


Shade

by MistyMountainHop



Category: That '70s Show
Genre: Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMountainHop/pseuds/MistyMountainHop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hyde finds himself homeless, on a night where Jackie is without parents. The gift he gave her last Christmas draws him to her, but his attachment lingers past that rainy first night, grows through countless experiences, and leads him across state lines. Their relationship is a high-stakes gamble, but Jackie may fold before Hyde can show all his cards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Attractiveness of Risk

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** This story stands alone, but technically it's the sequel to my one-shot "Hyde's Secret" (posted back in 2012). You don't have to read that story, however, to enjoy (or understand) this one.

CHAPTER 1  
**THE ATTRACTIVENESS OF RISK**

The apartment Hyde shared with his dad had been looted. The television was gone, along with the framed drawings on the wall and Bud's favorite lampshade. The thief must've been in a rush, though. Plenty of stuff remained behind, like Bud's record player and the couch, not to mention every kitchen appliance. But this was only Hyde's first glance. Maybe the bedrooms had been more thoroughly ransacked.

 _What had freakin' happened?_ He didn't get it. The front door was locked when he'd come home tonight. Had to be an inside job, man, like the landlord. Or some chick Bud stupidly gave a copy of the keys to.

 _Damn it,_ Bud should have been here. Work hours were over... but what if the robber had done something to him? Knocked him out and tied him up? Hyde raced to Bud's room, but it was empty—of _everything._ The shelves had been stripped of books and picture frames. Bud's clothes were missing from the closet, too, like he'd run off.

"Crap."

Hyde bolted to his own room. Nothing had been taken from it, but his green duffel bag was on his bed and open, as if waiting to be filled. A messily scrawled note was taped to the zipper. He snatched it up.

 _Steven,_ the note said in Bud's handwriting. _  
_

_I screwed up, son. You gotta get out. Leave no trace you ever lived here. They're after me. Debts I couldn't pay back in time. Never gamble, Steven. It's not worth it._

_They don't know I have a kid. They won't come after you. Even if they searched for your birth certificate, they won't find a connection between us. I know how paranoid you are about that kind of thing, but if you ever believed me on anything, you can believe that. If you leave now, they won't even know you exist._

_Quit reading this letter and pack. Go to the Formans'. I'm sure they'll take you in again. And burn this letter once you're safe._

_I'm sorry._

— _Bud_

Hyde crumpled the note and tossed it into his duffel bag. Then he spent the next half hour packing. In his eight months of staying here, he'd transferred most of his things from the Formans' to this apartment. His stuff mostly consisted of clothes, records, a few posters, and toiletries. Unfortunately, he'd have to leave his stereo behind. It was too bulky to carry out efficiently, especially without a car. If his dad's loan sharks were coming over—to break Bud's thumbs or whatever moneylending thugs did to defaulters—Hyde couldn't afford to return here.

He shouldered his duffel bag and left the apartment. He locked the door, just to give the loan sharks' muscle a harder time to get in. Then, once outside, he chucked the keys into a garbage can across the street. A thought to call the cops flickered in his mind, but he snuffed it out. He and cops didn't get along, and they'd involve him in Bud's mess more than he wanted. Probably put him in the danger Bud warned him to stay out of.

The night was slightly colder than he would've liked. June in Wisconsin, man. His corduroy jacket kept most of him warm, but he could've used an umbrella. Rain was pouring down, not pleasant weather to haul a heavy duffel bag in. Streetlamps lit his way, but where was he going? He couldn't return to the Formans' and put that burden back on them. He needed a safe place to crash, just for the night, so he could come up with his next move.

Leo's apartment was on the other side of town. Too far to walk. Kelso's house was crowded with all his nutbag siblings running around, and sharing a room with Fez guaranteed no space to think. He'd want to play "slumber party" games all night or force Hyde to sleep in the bathtub—because no way was Hyde sticking around while Fez took care of "his needs".

Donna would probably let him stay over, no problem. She might even keep it a secret from Forman since they were broken up. But she'd also want to know what happened, why Hyde had to leave Bud's. Then she'd get pissed when he clammed up, and Bob would find out Hyde was staying there, and Bob would tell Red, and...

No, Hyde had only one option. It was a risk, man, but he had a good cover. And her neighborhood was closer than the Formans' anyway.

Rain had drenched his hair and flattened it over his forehead. Water was dripping into his eyes. He blinked his vision clear and sped into a jog. His pulse was beating in his neck, but he couldn't distinguish his physical effort from his anxiety.

Spending a night with this chick was a gamble, man... and he'd seen how well gambling had done for his dad.

* * *

"Steven?"

Jackie hardly believed the sight in her foyer: Steven sopping wet with his green duffel bag over his shoulder. Rain water trickled off him to the Brazilian walnut flooring, and he moved to drop his soaked bag onto it.

She gestured a frantic "No!" at him then turned to Maria, her family's housekeeper. Maria was the one who'd let Steven in so late at night. "Get the mop," Jackie said, "and some towels for his bag to go on."

"Yes, Miss Burkhart."

Maria promptly went deeper into the house, and Jackie returned her attention to Steven. He was still dripping water onto the floor. His normally unruly hair was plastered over his forehead, and his eyes weren't concealed by his sunglasses. "What are you doing here?" she said.

"Figured I'd drop by and see Shade."

"It's almost ten at night."

"So? I've hung out with the critter 'til then before."

"Sure," she said, " _until_ then. Not starting at ten... whatever." She huffed out a breath. "What's with the duffel bag?"

He shifted the bag on his other shoulder, as if that would answer her question, but then he said, "I'm kind of between living spaces."

"Oh, God. What happened? Did your dad become a deadbeat again?"

"No, he got transferred."

"He's a bartender, Steven."

"Yeah, and he got transferred to another bar."

Jackie let out an incredulous laugh, and Maria arrived with the mop and towels. Jackie took the towels and laid them out on a stretch of floor that was dry. "Put your bag down there," she said to Steven, and Maria began to mop up. "Oh, and your boots. You're not tracking dirt through my house."

Steven blew out a sigh that puffed out his cheeks, but he did as she instructed. He lowered his duffel bag to the towels and took off his boots. His socks, though, were clearly soaked.

"Maria, when you're done mopping, fetch Steven some of Daddy's socks and slippers. And bring him a dry washcloth for his feet."

"Yes, Miss Burkhart," Maria said. She finished with the floor and returned to the depths of the house.

"You ever hear of using the word 'please'?" Steven said. "'Thank you' is another good one."

Jackie gave him a puzzled look. "To who? Maria? She's paid well to do as she's told."

"Yeah, but she's still a freakin' person. Wouldn't hurt to treat her like one from time to time."

She put her hands on her hips and groaned. "Not this again." Whenever Steven came over to visit the kitten, he always stuck in little digs and judgments. She was grateful he gave her Shade for Christmas. It was one of the kindest things anyone's ever done for her, but that didn't give him the right to tell her how to behave. "Just shut up and sit down until Maria gets back."

He scowled, but he also backed up to the foyer wall and sat down on the bench. "How come your dad hasn't barged down the stairs yet?" He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped one of his wet-socked feet on the floor. "He ain't gonna be happy you haven't kicked me out yet."

"You've only been here for a few minutes," she said, but he was right. Daddy didn't like that Steven came over every week. A condition Steven had when giving her Shade was visitation rights, and she had to honor that. So did her father. He was the one who'd accidentally killed her first cat—her beloved Sugar Plum—with the Lincoln. All she had to do was tremble her lips, shed a tear or two, and say she missed Sugar Plum _so much!_ and Daddy let Steven stay as long as she wanted.

"Ah. I got it," Steven said and stopped tapping his wet foot. "He's outta town again."

She nodded. "For the week. My mom, too."

"To another 'retreat'."

"Don't say it like that. Selling houses is hard work. She deserves a break."

"Yeah..." He pushed the wet hair from his eyes. Then he gazed at her with such intensity she wished he was wearing his sunglasses. Fortunately, Maria showed up with the socks, slippers, and washcloth, giving Jackie an excuse to look away.

"Thank you, Maria," she said and took the items from her. "That will be all—no, wait. Please make sure one of the guest rooms is suitable for sleeping in and leave the door open."

A smile twitched at the corner of Maria's lips, and she said, "Yes, Miss Burkhart," before disappearing down the carpeted hallway.

"Dry your feet before putting on Daddy's socks," Jackie said to Steven, but she refused to meet his eyes. Unlike Michael, he seemed to see things about her she couldn't guess. How could a boy she was barely friends with penetrate her defenses like that? Especially when her boyfriend was so inept at it? Not that Michael really tried, but he should've been better at reading her than someone she'd never made love to.

She glanced at Steven's feet. Her father's black socks were on them, but the slippers weren't. "Not a slipper-person?" she said.

"Never have been, never will be... So, what's this about a guest room?"

She kept her focus on his socked feet, "I'm not an idiot, Steven," and crossed her arms in front of her chest, both to mirror his demeanor and for extra protection. "You need a place to stay tonight, and you clearly aren't going to the Formans'—for whatever reason."

He said nothing, but she hadn't expected him to. He didn't like to discuss himself. Their conversations were usually about the kitten, although occasionally one of them would let something personal slip through.

She gestured down the hall, and he followed her to the living room. Shade was curled up on his cat tree by the bay window. Steven went directly to him and petted his cream-colored head. Shade let out a little meow and stretched his paws toward Steven's face. Then his buzzy purring started up, and he leaned his cheek into Steven's waiting hand.

"Hey, Cat," Steven said. His thumb traced the orange rings around Shade's eyes. They looked like Steven's sunglasses, which was why Jackie had chosen the name "Shade".

She joined Steven after a while and petted Shade's rumbling side. Sometimes the back of her hand slid against Steven's, and her skin tingled at the contact. The sensation reminded her of how she'd felt on Veteran's Day last year, during their one and only real kiss. She hadn't understood what it meant then. But through the time they spent together with Shade, she'd been able to attach a word to that moment other hot...

_Tender._

Steven had been tender with her, something she was unaccustomed to. Michael's kisses were always a bit disconnected, too sloppy, and immature. They mirrored his behavior, but Steven didn't win any trophies in that area either. He could be as rude and insensitive as he was compassionate. But his manner toward Shade had revealed the true nature of his soul—it was gentle, surrounded by protective barbed wire.

"Miss Burkhart, the guest room is ready," Maria called from the stairs.

Jackie withdrew her hand from Shade's belly, where she'd been scratching. "Thank you, Maria."

"Heh." Steven smirked at her. "That's two 'thank you's tonight. And one 'please'."

Her cheeks grew warm, and she moved her attention to Shade's pink triangle of a nose. "I have to write the cook a note for the morning—so she'll make two of everything. How long do you think you'll be staying here?"

"I'll be out after breakfast."

"To the Formans'?"

"No..."

"Then where?"

"That's what I got all night to figure out."

"Oh, you're being ridiculous," she said. "Just go back to the Formans'. They like you better than Eric, anyways... Well, _Mr._ Forman does."

"Whatever." Steven scooped Shade up from the cat tree and hugged him to his chest. Shade's purr grew louder. "He's gettin' big."

"He's almost eight-months-old..." She stared at Steven's fingers as they stroked Shade's fur. He was so sweet and relaxed with their kitten— _her_ kitten. He'd stroked the back of her own hair once, much more frantically, after her last breakup with Michael. "Look," she said to his fur-scratching fingers, "school just let out for the summer, right? You can stay here for a few days. The kitchen's stocked, and the cook is used to making food for more than one person—"

Steven's hand froze at Shade's shoulders. "What's in it for you?"

"Consider it a thank-you for going to jail for me... and for punching out that jerk Chip... and for Shade... and for being a good friend."

He didn't balk at her use of the word "friend," something he'd done every other time she'd called him one, and his hand resumed petting Shade. "Yeah," he said, "I'll think about it."

* * *

Hyde grabbed his duffel bag from the foyer. It wasn't dripping water anymore, and Jackie allowed him to bring it upstairs to the guest room. His boots, though, were another story. They'd have to stay put on the towel, but he had another pair in his bag—that he wasn't "permitted to wear" on her family's "lush, expensive carpet".

He didn't mind. The carpet cushioned his feet. Plus, he was about through with walking tonight.

The guest room's bland décor could've used a sledge hammer, but the bed was comfortable, more than his lumpy cot at the Formans'. He changed from his wet clothes to his dry undershirt and sweatpants; then he lay back on the bed and considered his options.

Leo would probably let him stay in his apartment for a while, but Hyde didn't want to cramp Leo's style. The apartment had only one bedroom, and living with Leo could get weird, especially with the string of chicks that regularly visited. Walking in on their late-night activities was not something Hyde needed to experience. He'd had enough of that with Edna.

A yawn forced its way out of his mouth. Sleep was threatening. He slid beneath the comforter and settled into the bed. Maybe he'd stay at Jackie's a few days after all. Regroup. Look for cheap housing or find a roommate. He had to do something.

His eyes shut, and he tried not to think about it anymore, but his eyes drifted open at Shade's soft meowing. The kitten was prowling outside his room. Did he want in? Hyde pushed the comforter off himself, lumbered to the door, and opened it.

Shade trotted inside, and Hyde sat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Cat." He patted the comforter, and Shade leapt onto it. A moment later, Shade butted his head against Hyde's chin.

Hyde laughed quietly. "No denyin' you're freakin' cute," and he petted Shade for a while before getting back into bed.

Shade followed him up to the pillows. He nosed his way beneath the sheets then crawled on top of Hyde's chest.

"Joining me, huh?"

Hyde made sure the sheets didn't block Shade's access to fresh air. Then he shut his eyes again. The nights he'd spent with Shade after finding him in the woods—when the kitten was just a tiny thing—had been some of the most peaceful. Shade's presence now, with his purr rumbling into Hyde's body, soothed Hyde's mind enough for a restful sleep.

* * *

Jackie couldn't sleep.

The feeling of Steven's skin on hers usually dissipated after a few minutes, but it didn't this time. The sensation frustrated her, raised gooseflesh up and down her body, and needed release. But she wouldn't do anything foolish, wouldn't betray Michael the way he'd betrayed her so many times. She wouldn't betray him inside her mind either, not with unfulfillable fantasies.

Steven barely tolerated being her friend, and he hadn't felt anything during their kiss. He hadn't even thought it was hot. If she'd understood her emotions that night instead of dismissing them, then... nothing would be different.

No, that wasn't quite true. She might've continued to chase after Steven and repulsed him so much he wouldn't have given her Shade. Then their friendship wouldn't have happened at all.

Her pink ceiling looked prison-gray in the dark. She laced her fingers over her stomach and tried to will her skin and nerves to calm down. But her mind rebelled, creating images of Steven barging into her room and confessing his undeniable attraction to her.

"Damn," she whispered and thrust the sheets from her uncooperative body. She went out into the hall, intending to wash her hands in the bathroom, to scrub and scrub until Steven's touch sloughed off. But the door to his room was open a crack. She opened it further and peeked her head inside. Steven was asleep. Not snoring, but his breath was heavy and regular, like the pendulum of her family's antique grandfather clock.

Her father liked to say that slumber rendered a person harmless, that even the most hardened criminals looked like angels when they slept. Did the same hold true for toughened-up orphans?

She slipped into the room to prove the theory, to get a closer look at Steven's dozing face—and stumbled over something lumpy. His duffel bag? Did he put it next to the door on purpose? She knelt down and patted the lumpy thing. Its canvas material scraped against her palms. She'd tripped over his duffel bag, all right, and in the windows' ambient light, she found the bag's zipper.

She pulled the zipper open slowly, couldn't risk the sound waking Steven. Snooping gave her such a rush. It made her feel dangerous, and her romantic frustration began to dissipate. She dug her arm inside the duffel bag. Clothing, rolled-up posters, and the pair of boots she'd probably bought him all met her hand. She rummaged deeper and discovered a paper bag, had to be his stash, and a wadded-up piece of paper.

She withdrew the paper from the duffel bag, and something furry rubbed against her leg. "Shade?" she whispered, and he meowed at her.

"What's up, Cat?" Steven said groggily, and Jackie swallowed a curse. He just _had_ to be a light sleeper.

She tried to sneak out into the hall, but Shade was underfoot. She tripped over the duffel bag again in an attempt not to step on him, and she hit the floor with an "Oof!"Steven sat up in the bed. "Jackie?"

" _Shh..._ you're dreaming." She stuffed the crumpled paper into her pajama top, where it lay precariously between her chest and the cotton. Then she crab-walked backward to the door, hoping for a quick getaway, but Steven— _damn him_ —was out of the bed and at her side in seconds.

"What the hell are you doing?" he said and shut the door before she could escape.

"Nothing."

"Cut the crap."

She stood up, crossed her arms in an "X" over her chest, and grasped her own shoulders. She had to hide the evidence of what she'd pilfered. "I was just wondering where Shade is. I get lonely at night when my parents aren't around, okay? And sometimes he'll cuddle with me."

Only the first part of her explanation was a lie, but Steven seemed to buy all of it. "Oh... 'kay. Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

She opened the door and dashed to her room. She locked her own door and turned on the lamp by her bed. Her heart was racing with Steven's ball of paper pressed against it. Maybe her excitement was for nothing. The paper could be blank or a grocery list or otherwise insignificant, but she had to know.

She sat down on the bed and withdrew the paper from her pajama top. No writing was immediately visible on the outside, so she flattened the crumpled paper on her thigh. The side facing her was white and empty. She flipped it over, and this side was filled with writing.

Her heart pounded harder. She was holding a letter from Bud, Steven's father.

"That's terrible," she whispered after reading it. "Your father is terrible... _I'm_ terrible."

She shouldn't have invaded Steven's privacy. If he'd done it to her, she would've beaten him with her shoe; but despite the guilt she felt, she wadded the letter back up so it looked like she'd never read it.

* * *

* * *

**Stock Used for Cover Art:**

  * [Savvy 05](http://lumibear.deviantart.com/art/Savvy-05-244267046)
  * [Shadow street](http://darkphotographe.deviantart.com/art/Shadow-street-337693047)




	2. The Winning Margin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 2  
 **THE WINNING MARGIN**  


In the morning, Jackie slipped Bud's letter back into the duffel bag. Steven was using the bathroom, and she bolted from his room in time. She saw him next in the kitchen downstairs. Rosa, the cook, had prepared pancakes and sausage, something Jackie knew Steven liked.

They were served at the cozy breakfast table. Usually, when either one or both of her parents were home, Jackie ate breakfast in the dining room. They never wanted her to forget her upper-class upbringing, but that room was too vast and lonely without another person there. Its sumptuous décor—including ornate furniture and expensive, nearly untouchable crystal—did not make for good company. Shade wasn't allowed inside, so she was glad to eat in the kitchen where he devoured his can of premium-brand cat food.

Steven devoured his pancakes just as quickly. He finished before she was halfway through her plate. He'd been reading Daddy's _Milwaukee Sentinel,_ and he separated the Real Estate section of the paper from the rest.

"Gotta work," he said and stuffed the paper under his arm. "Gonna try finding a room to rent—"

"Or you could move back in with the Formans'," Jackie said, "like a sane person."

He grinned at her, too widely. "Who ever said I was sane, man?"

" _Ugh._ "

"Anyway, I'll be back later for my crap. Thanks for the grub and the place to crash."

He moved toward the kitchen door, the one that lead to the living room, but Shade lay down on the floor and stretched out in front of him. That was Shade's "I want cuddles" maneuver, and Steven fell for it. He knelt down and rubbed Shade's cream-colored belly. Shade took this well until it inspired him to wrestle. His front paws grasped Steven's hand, and his hind legs kicked at Steven's wrist.

"N'uh-uh, Cat." Steven extricated himself from Shade's grip. "We'll play later."

"With a toy!" Jackie shouted, but Steven was halfway through the kitchen door.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," he called back. He disappeared into the living room, and a few moments later, the front door slid open and clicked shut.

The sound startled her, but not because it was loud. Steven had been gentle enough with the door, but his simple act had unearthed labyrinthine feelings. He was the kind of boy who opened his own doors—those inside his mind and heart—when he chose to. She'd been lucky enough to be let in once or twice, and what she'd found on the other side both frightened and fascinated her.

He was so different from anyone she'd ever known, like a complex math equation that needed solving, but math was her least favorite subject in school. That letter she'd illicitly read filled in some variables, but it also complicated him further.

"Are you finished?" Rosa said.

Jackie glanced up at her, "No," and tried to eat the rest of her pancakes, but her appetite was gone. "Yes. Thank you."

Rosa paused a moment before clearing the plates. Then, under her breath, she muttered in Spanish, _"Al menos uno de los Burkharts tiene un corazón._ "

Jackie understood only two words in that sentence, "Burkharts" and " _corazón_ ". The latter meant "heart," and she knew this because Michael took Spanish. He sometimes called her " _Mi corazón,_ " but her own heart must've gotten its color from red ink. It was in need of severe correcting, like her last Geometry test.

Steven's equation wasn't hers to solve or even to understand, not unless he wanted her to. And he clearly didn't want her to. Her act last night had unbalanced things between them, despite that he didn't know it.

* * *

Hyde returned to the Burkhart Mansion earlier than he'd planned—and in time for dinner. The scent of garlic and basil hung in the air, and he followed his nose to the dining room. Sitting at the too-long table were Jackie and Kelso. Their plates had barely been touched, and Kelso said to him, "Hey, what're you doing here?"

"To see Cat," Hyde said.

Kelso seemed to accept this answer, even though Shade wasn't allowed in the dining room. "Good luck finding 'im. He always runs away when I come over."

Hyde smirked. "Smart cat." Then he said to Jackie, "Did Rosa make another—"

"Yes," she said. "Just go to the kitchen and let her know you're here."

"Cool."

He walked toward the room's fancy doors— _French_ _doors_ Jackie had called them—but Kelso caught his elbow. "You were MIA in the basement today. Why didn'tcha come over after work?"

"Who are you, my wife? You sound like Forman." Hyde pulled his arm free from Kelso's fingers. "Me and Bud are hangin' out a lot. Might not be in the basement for a few days. We got eight years of catchin' up to do."

"But haven't you been doing that this whole time?" Kelso said. "You've been livin' with him over half a year. How much catching up can you guys do?"

Hyde didn't answer and strode into the kitchen. He elected to eat dinner with Rosa, Maria, and Shade in the pantry. Then he went upstairs to the guest room. A private circle was calling his name, but Kelso had started up on the piano. His arrhythmic playing reached Hyde from the living room, and the only song Kelso seemed to know was "Chopsticks".

Smoking up with that racket was a no-go. Hyde's thoughts would grow as choppy as the song rather than smoothing out. His alternate plan: searching through his small, gray book of contacts. It would probably serve him better anyway. He grasped the doorknob, intending to close the door, but Shade darted into the room before he had the chance.

"Yeah, I don't like the moron's playing, either," Hyde said.

Shade bounded onto the bed then jumped onto the bureau. The Burkharts had put several useless nicknacks up there, some carved from onyx and jade. Shade's paw batted at a ceramic elephant. Hyde would've let the kitty wreak havoc, but Shade had it good at the Burkharts. Jackie's parents were liable to put him down if he busted something, valuing a few expensive decorations over Shade's life.

"Can't be doin' that, Cat." Hyde pulled Shade off the bureau and onto his shoulder. Shade settled there, and Hyde walked with him across the room. "Let's see if this helps..." He tried again to shut the door against Kelso's playing; but a small, strong hand with pink fingernails kept it open.

"Steven, can I come in?"

Hyde opened the door wider in response, and Jackie stepped inside. She seemed to be taking short breaths, but she closed the door behind herself, which significantly muffled the piano.

"I'm sorry about Michael—"

"Doesn't a piano like that have a lock?" Hyde lifted Shade from his shoulder and deposited him onto the bed. Then he tossed Shade a rolled-up pair of black socks to play with.

"Not about that," Jackie said. "About him being here."

"Nothin' to apologize for. He's your boyfriend, right?"

"Right..." She sat on the edge of the bed and snatched the socks from Shade. "Are these my dad's?" Hyde nodded, and she looked as if she would yell, but she returned the socks to Shade. "Did you find a place to live?"

"Not yet." Hyde bent down by his duffel bag. He took his gray book from an outside pocket and stood again. "Look, I don't want Kelso—or anyone—knowin' I'm homeless, okay? You think you can keep that one to yourself?"

"But you have a home. It's waiting for you. If you weren't so afraid, you'd see that."

"I ain't afraid of crap." He stuck his thumb between pages of the gray book. He couldn't go back to the Formans. Red had been right about Bud; he was no good. He'd traded one addiction for another, booze for gambling. His life was a series of miserable dead ends, and Hyde would more than likely follow his in tracks.

"Then what is it, Steven?" Jackie was glaring at him, as if she were trying breach his defenses. "Pride? Guilt? What?"

"You and me," he gestured between them, "we got two different lives, man. That's it."

She said nothing, but did she get what he was saying? Probably not. The very nature of his point would block comprehension. She had parents who'd bribe her way into college if they needed to. A dad who owned half the town and could get her any job she wanted. A guarantee that at least two people would give a damn about her as long as they lived.

Hyde had visitation rights with a cat.

"Fine." She lowered her gaze to the rug. "I won't say anything."

"Thanks."

He opened the door for her to leave, and Kelso's piano playing burst into the room. It sounded like he was mashing the keys, and she rushed into the hallway, shouting, "Michael, get off the damn piano!"

Shade scampered behind her.

* * *

Hyde didn't quite close the door after Jackie left. He stood by and listened as she stomped down the stairs. She'd become silent, but her silence was followed by a discordant slam and a cry of pain from Kelso. She must have shut the fallboard on his fingers.

Peace and quiet at last, man, and Hyde planned on taking advantage of it. He unzipped his duffel bag and rummaged around, but Jackie's voice reached him before his stash did.

"No, Michael. You can't stay over tonight!"

"But this is a perfect night for doin' it!" Kelso shouted. "Both your parents are gone. You always invite me over when they're away."

"Well, not tonight."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe tomorrow."

"All right!" Kelso said, and his conversation with Jackie grew quieter until Hyde couldn't hear it anymore.

"Finally," he whispered, "stash time." He pulled out the paper bag out with his joints, but Shade trotted back into the room. A pink foam ball was in his mouth. He dropped it at Hyde's feet and looked up at him expectantly. "Like a freakin' dog," Hyde said.

He snatched up the ball. Shade was a smart kitten. Jackie had taught him how to play fetch early-on, and he didn't do a half-ass job of playing. He always brought the ball back to a waiting hand.

Hyde tossed the ball into the hallway, and Shade chased after it. He'd be back in seconds, and Hyde went to the nightstand. He stuffed his stash into the drawer. Didn't need the kitten getting into his joints.

Shade returned with the ball and jumped onto the bed with it. The cat could play fetch for a good twenty minutes, and Hyde obliged him. On Hyde's seventh throw, however, the ball bounced off Jackie's clothed breasts.

"Hey!" she said.

Hyde snickered. "Sorry. Cat wanted some playtime." He was sitting on the bed now, and Shade returned the ball to him yet again. Instead of tossing it, though, Hyde petted Shade until the cat began to purr and plunked down by Hyde's side.

"Michael's gone." Jackie scooped Shade up into her arms. She scratched the back of his cream-colored head, but her breathing was unsteady.

"What's goin' on?" Hyde said. "Didja want Kelso to stay here tonight or something? 'Cause I can get out if you—"

"No." She partially hid her face behind Shade's back. "Last year was really tough for me, Steven. Learning Michael had cheated on me was just—was just the tipping point."

Hyde's brow furrowed. "Okay..." He had no clue where she was going with this. She never talked to him about anything serious when he came over, and he liked it that way.

She groaned and put Shade back down on the bed. Shade sat on the foam ball then kicked it with his hind legs. He attacked it with various strategies as Jackie poked her head outside the door. She seemed afraid Kelso was still lurking around, or maybe she didn't want Maria to listen in because she closed the door afterward.

"I also learned last year," she said, "that my dad has a mistress."

"Hell..." Hyde's jaw clenched.

"Yeah. My mom told me, and I'm not supposed to let Daddy know that I know. But the 'retreats' my mom goes on... they're not alone. She has a few boy toys down in Mexico."

The rest of Hyde's body tensed—to keep his anger from escaping. Maybe Shade could sense it because he hopped off the bed and went to the door. He stretched his paws up toward the doorknob.

"Let the cat out," Hyde said. Jackie did as he directed and shut the door again. "Why're you tellin' me this, man?"

"I just wanted to even things out.

"What're you talkin' about?"

"So you have something to blackmail me with."

"Still not gettin' it."

"Now that you know this horrible thing about my family," she said, "you can trust me."

He stared at her. She was making no sense. "Did you get into my stash or someth..." His stomach dropped. She'd been skulking in his room last night, hadn't she? By his duffel bag. "You found Bud's letter."

Her voice shrank to a whisper. "Yeah."

He glanced up at the ceiling and laughed once. "Unbelievable."

She stepped toward him. "I'm sorry." Then she cupped his shoulder. "But I promise I won't tell anyone."

Hyde's lips buzzed at the contact, even though she hadn't touched his mouth. They were remembering the pressure her own mouth had put on them half a year ago, during their first date. He squeezed his lips together tightly and bit them from the inside, but he couldn't cause enough pain. The memory refused to fade.

"And you better not tell anyone what I told you," she said and backed away. "Not unless I slip up."

"Unbelievable," he repeated.

She answered with a massive eye-roll, the most dramatic he'd ever seen. It could have won a world record.

"Jackie—"

"What do you want from me, Steven? I can't un-read the note. I can't un-snoop in your bag. I've given you protection against me, so..."

"No." He stood up and cupped her shoulder, copying her previous gesture. She looked at him with what had to be shock. Her eyes were wide, and her lips were parted slightly. "Unbelievable," he said. "that'd you'd 'even things out'. Unbelievable that your mom expects you to carry freakin' secrets like spare change. Unbelievable that..." His hand fell from her shoulder. His palm felt electrified, alive with a need to touch her face, to draw her in for a kiss. "Anyway, we're cool. Okay?"

She hesitated before smiling. "Okay."

* * *

The next day at breakfast, Jackie gave Hyde a copy of the house keys, "So you can come and go as you like," she said. That was his second surprise in less than twelve hours, the first being her family confession and the reason behind it. The chick had more layers to her than he thought and an honorable conscience, something he never suspected hid beneath her massive ego. She just needed to be challenged, man, so her behavior and thoughts could break free from her spoiled upbringing.

He didn't mind being her challenger. In fact, he kind of dug it. But his opportunities to do so would be few and far between from here on in. The realities of his life were crashing down on him like concrete bricks. He needed to find a place to live and fast, or he'd end up like his cousin Keith, stabbed to death beneath a bridge.

Hyde walked to work in the boots Jackie had bought him a year ago. They were comfortable and didn't blister his feet like his uncle's boots, but he arrived at the Fotohut only to find it closed. Leo met him in front, though, and said he needed help cleaning out his garage.

"You scored one of those?" Hyde said. Leo's apartment building had several garages that tenants could rent, but they were offered on a first-come, first-served basis.

"Yeah, man, and it's too full. I'm gonna have a yard sale."

"But you don't have a yard."

"Oh. Then I guess I'll have a garage sale..." Leo's brows knit together in confusion, "even though the garage isn't for sale."

"You can call it an 'Inside the Garage' sale," Hyde said.

Leo's expression brightened, "Yeah!" and he patted Hyde on the back. "You're so full of ideas, man. People should call you an ideas-man, man."

Hyde chuckled, and they went off to Leo's building together. It wasn't far, only a few blocks away. A musty odor permeated the garage, along with piles of junk. But beneath all of Leo's crap was a shining, four-wheeled beacon of badassery—a 1967 El Camino.

"Leo, man, there's a car in here!"

"Wow. Do you think it's mine?" Leo stared at the Camino for a moment. "I remember driving it to Point Place years ago, so I guess it is. Small world." He stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a key. Then he stuck it into the Camino's passenger-side door, and the lock clicked open. "Whoa! So that's what this mystery key belongs to. I've been wonderin' about that for ages."

"It's a sweet set of wheels, man."

"You know..." Leo held up the key and studied it, "I was gonna give this car to my son on his sixteenth birthday, but then my old lady took him and split." He passed the key to Hyde. "I want you to have this car."

Hyde stared a the dull key in his palm, his third surprise of the last twenty-four hours. Too bad he didn't have the car a few days ago. He could've rescued his stereo from Bud's apartment.

"Thanks, Leo," he said with a grin. "You're the best."

Leo's car and Leo's love, man... they tempted Hyde to share with him his living situation. Instead, he helped Leo clear out the garage enough so Hyde could drive the Camino out of there. The engine purred like Shade when it revved up. Leo must have filled the gas tank and changed the oil before putting this baby to bed.

* * *

Hyde spent the rest of the afternoon driving around town and scoping out places to rent. One house looked promising... until he learned he'd be sharing it with a couple who enjoyed Bluegrass music. Most other places were either too expensive or had lousy upkeep, even worse than his rented house with Edna. A few roaches he could handle—but not a swarm living beneath his mattress.

The day's search was a bust. What chance did a high-school kid, who only made a few bucks an hour, have at finding a decent living space? Maybe he could get another job to afford rent. Quit the Fotohut and get two different jobs. But then he'd have no Hyde-time. He'd be a barely-sleeping automaton. And in September when school started, what would he do? He'd have to drop out.

He returned to the Burkhart Mansion late that night. Driving for hours and thinking hadn't made his choices seem any better, but at least the pizza he bought for dinner had tasted good.

Shade meowed and ran up to him in the living room. "Hey, Cat," Hyde said. Shade's eyes flashed green. Then he stretched out his back and fell onto his side. That was his way of saying he wanted a pet.

Hyde gave him one. He knelt down and stroked Shade's fur, and Shade's purr vibrated beneath Hyde's fingers.

"You really are damn cute," Hyde said then stood up with a sigh. Having a life like Shade's would be nice, not to have any freakin' worries, but Hyde's road rarely went like that. It had always been full of sharp turns and forks and rubble. Every choice he made, like living with his dad or kissing Jackie, seemed to lead to worse ones. One of these days, he was gonna crash into a decision that he couldn't walk away from. Because he'd be too mangled or dead.

But for now, he went up the Burkharts' carpeted staircase. Muffled voices reached him before he got to the second-floor landing. He couldn't make them out, but once he got to the hallway, they became distinct.

"I said no!" Jackie shouted. Her bedroom door was shut, and Hyde rushed for it. Sounded like she was in trouble.

"Jackie, come on," the other voice said. "When are we gonna get this opportunity again? Let's do it."

_Kelso._

"Would you stop pestering me already?" Jackie said. "Go to sleep, Michael, or get out."

"Fine!"

Hyde sucked in a relieved but frustrated breath. Jackie was cool, just dealing with the usual. He hadn't expected Kelso to be here tonight, but in the guestroom Hyde found a note. It was written in Jackie's girly, bubbly handwriting, but the ink was smudged, and the handwriting was messy, as if she'd been in a hurry.

_Steven,_ the note said.

_Michael came over, and I couldn't get rid of him. Sorry. He still doesn't know you're staying here, so just be your sneaky self, and it'll stay that way._

_Speaking of being sneaky, I have an idea for you. You like being devious and underhanded, right?_

Hyde stopped reading and laughed. Did he ever. And so did Jackie, even if she'd never admit it. The chick had a devious streak herself. He'd experienced it more than once, including two nights ago when she'd swiped his letter from Bud.

_If you still have the key to the Formans' basement,_ the note continued, _and to your old room, you don't have to tell the Formans you're living there._ _Just live there._ _You spend most of your time in the basement anyway. You can can sneak into your room after everyone leaves or goes to bed. Then you can sneak out in the morning before anyone wakes up._

_It's not an ideal solution, but at least you'll have a roof over your head. If anything, it'll give you a few more days (or weeks) to figure out a more permanent living situation._

_My parents are coming home tomorrow, so you'd be smart to take my advice. I don't want to think of you living on the streets. You're dirty enough already._

— _Jackie_

Hyde crushed the note in his hand. Jackie was a damn genius. Maybe he _could_ sleep at the Formans a while without them ever knowing, slip in and slip out.

He dug through his duffel bag for one of his school notebooks, a pen, and a little thank-you present to Jackie. He spent a moment writing her a note; then he slung the duffel bag over his shoulder.

Out in the hallway, too familiar sounds escaped Jackie's room—the squeak of mattress springs, a headboard knocking against the wall. She must have given into Kelso's whining. Hyde was leaving just in time.

* * *

Jackie disentangled herself from Kelso's octopus-like grip. He was deep in sleep, but Jackie's heart was racing. Had Steven come home yet? She dashed into the hallway and shut her bedroom door. Steven's door was open, probably for Shade.

She'd promised not to sneak into his room anymore, but she peeked an eye through the door's wide crack. Steven wasn't there, so she entered and turned on the lights. His duffel bag was gone, too. He must have left for good. Did that mean he'd found a place to live?

A cream-colored ball of fur was curled up on the bed—Shade. He was sleeping, and she sat down by him. His ears fluttered at her presence, but he didn't stir. He'd been busy, though. A partially-shredded note was on the nightstand.

She picked up the note, and flakes of paper fell off it. "Shade, you just have to chew paper, don't you?" But the majority of the note was intact. Steven had written it. His handwriting had a rough elegance, like he actually took some care in forming his letters. It intrigued her, just as he did, and she read the note.

_Jackie,_

_Thanks for the room and board. Won't be on the streets, but I'm gonna be extra dirty from now on. Decided to take showers with mud instead of water. I like the earthy smell._

_Tell your parents to give Maria a raise. She'll have more cleaning to do whenever I come over. Gonna track dirt and grime and probably dog crap all over your rugs._

Jackie shut her eyes and shook her head. This was Steven's version of a thank-you?

_I'll bring your keys back tomorrow,_ " the note continued. _Didn't want to leave your front door unlocked._

_—Hyde_

_P.S. Left you a little present. It'll probably freak you out, but if you have the guts to get through it—I'll listen to one of your shitty records sometime._

"A present?" Jackie's mood lifted. She loved presents, and she feverishly searched for a box wrapped in shiny paper. Instead, she found a beat-up, well-read copy of George Orwell's _Nineteen Eighty-Four._ Shade had pushed it under the bed. "Books aren't presents for pretty girls, Steven," she said as if he could hear her. "They're for prisoners to pass the time away."

Then again, maybe she _was_ a prisoner. As large as her house was, she did feel somewhat trapped by it. Or, perhaps, her life did the trapping. The house, she could escape from as she pleased. Her choices, not so much—or her slow-kindling self-awareness. If only she'd known on Veteran's day what that heat in her chest had been, but no heat filled her love with Michael should've ejected the loneliness from her heart, but it had injected more. Shade seemed to sense this because he woke up. He crawled onto her lap and purred. His buzzy, rumbly presence soothed her, just as Steven's had done the last few days.

She picked up _Nineteen Eighty-Four_ from the bed _._ The book had to mean something to Steven. It looked like he'd read it a hundred times. The cover was battered, and the pages were dog-eared. She was loathe even to touch it, but she began to read; and by the time she finished the second paragraph, she understood the gift she'd received.

Steven had unlocked one of his doors, and he'd invited her inside.


	3. Betting Tax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 

CHAPTER 3  
 **BETTING TAX  
**

_The Burkhart Mansion_   
**  
** _Eleven Months Later_

**...**

"How long?" Hyde said. He was standing in Jackie's living room and feeling tiny, as if he'd been crushed to the size of a gambling die. The room's immensity had nothing to do with it. Jackie was too damn good at keeping secrets from him. She might as well have chucked his heart into a trash compactor. "How long, Jackie?"

"It's not a big deal," she said, and he glanced away from her face. The room's lights were off, but the place seemed clean and orderly. The couch, from what he could feel, hadn't been torn up. His palm lay on the back edge, and he kept his emotions as flat as his hand. "Two weeks, Steven. Okay?" Her answer drew his eyes back to her. "She's been gone for two weeks."

His fingers gripped the couch, but they relaxed again. "Two weeks? You've been livin' here alone for two damn weeks? Why didn't you tell me, man?" Beneath his boots, the rug was as cushy as ever. Cracker crumbs and broken furniture didn't litter the floor. Jackie hadn't wrecked the house in her mother's absence, something he'd done to his own place when Edna ran off.

"Look," a heavy sigh swallowed the word, "when my dad went to prison, you didn't know what to do, and that made me realize I had to deal with things by myself. You don't have another beard to shave."

"Jackie—" He shut his eyes. Anger was frothing in his stomach. First, she didn't tell him about her family's cabin being foreclosed on. Then she didn't tell him about her birthday, but this latest batch of classified info more than pissed him off. Her mother was still in Mexico, Jackie was using her trust fund to pay the bills, and she had to let go of Maria and Rosa, the housekeeper and cook. "You shoulda told me," he said. They'd been together for seven damn months, his longest relationship by six months and three weeks. She had to know how he felt about her.

He opened his eyes, only to find Jackie frowning and fiddling with the ribbon of her blouse. She was silent, but a curious meow broke into the dark.

"Cat?" He turned on a lamp, and Jackie objected. "I'll pay the extra five bucks."

Shade had padded up to them by the couch. His eyes flashed green for a moment; then he rubbed himself against Hyde's legs. Shade had grown a lot since Hyde first rescued him. The cat was an adult now, about a year-and-a-half-old, and a good fifteen pounds. But his body supported the weight. He was really long, like a sausage.

Hyde reached down and petted the top of Shade's head. Shade chirruped in response, and it prompted Hyde to speak again. "I'm sorry."

Jackie turned away from him. "Don't be. I've been fine on my own. I eat an apple in the morning and have hot oatmeal for dinner. I realized the school lunch isn't so bad..."

He ran his gaze over her back. _Huh._ That explained why she felt sharper lately, more bony. She hadn't been eating enough.

"No," he said, "I'm sorry for makin' you think you have to keep this crap to yourself." His voice was rough, as if it hadn't expected to reveal so much. Her bones were poking through her blouse a little, and he pulled his focus from her spine. "Must've been sending you some 'great' signals..."

His throat hurt with the confession, felt thick. Kelso finding a way into her skull made sense now. Hyde had given him the parking space. Kelso seemed determined to drive off with her, kept getting her presents and hitting on her.

Maybe part of Kelso's motivation was revenge. Hyde had gone to the Burkharts regularly while Kelso and Jackie were together. Hyde meant to see Shade, but his visits weren't only about the cat. They'd been about Jackie, too—not that he'd ever admitted it.

He should have. They were barely friends, but she'd given him room and board when he'd found himself homeless...

His attention was on Shade now. The cat had flopped onto one of Hyde's boots and begun to purr.

"I really care about you, Jackie," Hyde said softly. Maybe too softly. Shade's purring almost drowned him out. "Your freakin' boyfriend should celebrate your damn birthday with you, and..." he moved his gaze to Jackie's heels, "give you a safe place to crash when you need it."

"Wait," she turned back around, "what are you saying?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I'm saying you're staying with me. Pack your stuff."

"All of it? It'll be morning by the time I—"

"No, your toothbrush, shampoo. Something to wear in the morning. I'll drive you back here the next day so you can pick up more stuff."

She stepped closer to him. "How long am I staying with you?"

"As long as you have to."

"In your tiny, dark, dingy room? Where are you gonna sleep?

"Uh..." he bent down and picked Shade up, "with you?" The cat was heavy, but Hyde draped Shade over his shoulder and scratched behind Shade's ears.

Jackie backed up. "This is just so you can get more sex, isn't it? You're gonna paw at me all night until I give in."

Hyde scowled. "I'm not Kelso."

"What about Shade? I can't just leave him."

"You'll be back in the morning."

"He'll get lonely at night without me."

"So we'll bring him," Hyde said. Shade's purr was vibrating into his neck.

"He'll be climbing the walls if he has to stay in your room all night.

"Fine." Hyde knelt down, and Shade crawled down his back and jumped to the floor. "Then I'm stayin' here. I'll sleep in a guest room if you're scared I'll 'paw' at you—"

Jackie's expression softened, and she took his hand as he stood up. "You really do care about me, huh?"

He didn't say it again, but he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

* * *

Steven spent that first night at Jackie's house in the bed with her. To her surprise and delight, he just held her. She'd always imagined the man she loved doing that, and her loneliness of the past few weeks dissolved. Steven's palm was so warm against her chest, and Shade's purr rumbled through the comforter. The cat was curled up on the bed at their feet. Her parents might've been gone, but the three of them—Jackie, Steven, and Shade—felt like a family.

The next two nights, Steven held her the same way. But on the fourth night, he didn't bring his backpack of clothes with him. "You gotta start staying with me," he said. "The Formans are getting suspicious, man. They called me out on not showin' up for breakfast yesterday, and they checked my room last night. They know I wasn't there."

His tone was agitated, but his posture seemed relaxed. He and Jackie were in the living room, and he sat in one of the white armchairs with Shade on his lap. One hand settled on Shade's back while the other scratched Shade's chin and cheeks. They looked very sweet together, and Jackie almost left to get her camera.

"Why don'tcha take a load off?" He gestured to the couch. She was pacing, couldn't stand still. The carpet would've worn away had she not been barefoot.

"I can't believe they have a key to your room," she said. "Don't they believe in privacy?"

"Not Red," he said, "not since I took the fall for your pot and Forman tried to save my ass from being on the streets. He never should've told Red he was hittin' the smoke." He ushered Shade from his lap and stood up. "Anyway, you gotta come over."

"Fine," she said. Staying in her large, lonely house appealed to her less than the alternative. "On one condition: I have to be back here first thing in the morning to feed Shade."

"You can take the Camino."

"I can?"

"Yeah, you know how to drive a stick—'cause I taught ya."

"Ew. Don't get dirty."

"Wasn't trying to, but since you mentioned it..."

He stepped forward and grasped her hips. He pressed soft kisses into her neck that grew more intense, and she giggled. She hardly believed he'd let her drive his El Camino. That car was his baby, but so was their cat... and Jackie herself, it seemed.

His treatment of her this week had led her to believe he loved her. The admission never came near his lips, but the truth was in every hot meal he cooked for her—and his concern for her general well-being. She'd bruised her thigh on the bathroom sink two nights ago. She was getting into her pajamas, and the sink's stupid edges were too sharp. He'd heard her cry of pain and rushed to her side. The tenderness of his touch remained on her leg even now.

And it equaled love even if he wouldn't say the words.

* * *

Sleeping in Steven's cot was a cramped but enjoyable affair. She liked how he held her, not loosely—as if her presence was incidental to him—but also not too tight. She could breathe, had freedom to move, and he let her go when she wanted more space. And he never, not once, pestered her for sex. Not that he had to. They usually made love earlier in the day, but Michael would've bugged her for more anyway.

By the end of the week, though, Jackie grew concerned. Steven was watching _Saturday Night Live_ at her house, and Shade was far more vocal than he normally was. He stood in front of the television, put bits of cat litter into his mouth, and gnawed on Steven's bootlaces. Eventually, Shade brought a foam ball to the couch, and Jackie tossed it for him... and tossed it... and tossed it some more. He was acting needy and clingy, like he missed her.

She gave up satisfying him with fetch and scratched his fuzzy cheeks. The orange rings around his eyes resembled Steven's sunglasses, but they didn't hide his wide stare. The cat was lonely, had probably felt as abandoned as she did by her own mother.

Shade's tail swept onto Steven's lap, and Steven brushed a finger over the fur. "What's up, Cat?"

"He doesn't like being left alone so much," she said.

"We'll be here all night." He stroked Shade's tail again. "Saturdays are all yours, buddy."

Jackie shook cat hair from her fingers. Her plan with Steven was to spend Saturday nights at her place. The Formans wouldn't expect him home before two a.m., and Sunday mornings the Formans went to church. Steven often slept in those mornings, so his absence at breakfast wouldn't raise suspicions.

"It won't be enough," she said. "Shade needs more of me."

Steven arched an eyebrow, as if to say, "The cat'll get over it," but then he said, "We'll bring him over to the Formans'. Basement's big enough for him, and he knows to avoid Kelso, so it should be cool."

"Really?" She covered her mouth to hide her surprise. She'd read him completely wrong, and it wasn't the first time. She misjudged him too often. He was capable of far more than she ever expected of him—or, maybe, her expectations were low for anyone she loved. She'd been disappointed so many times.

"Yeah," he said. "It'll be fun having him around."

"What about the basement door? I don't want him escaping."

"We'll put Donna on alert. Her cat doesn't go outside either since Forman killed her first one."

She gasped and brought Shade to her chest. " _Shh!_ " Then she tucked his head beneath her chin. "Don't talk about that in front of Shade—or me."

Steven laughed, as if the sight of her hiding Shade was funny. Admittedly, he was a big cat, and his body spilled between her arms. But Shade didn't complain or squirm. He purred, and the sound tightened her throat. Only goodness filled Shade's heart; it was such a rare and precious thing.

"I don't want anything happening to him, okay?" she said and let Shade go. He jumped to the floor and chased after a piece of rug fluff. "Ever since Daddy ran over Sugar Plum, I'm just... I'm a little protective, okay?"

Shade became distracted in mid-chase by one of his toys, a fake mouse. He tackled it, and Steven seemed enthralled by his antics. A smile even rose on Steven's face, but it vanished quickly. "Look," he said, "I love the cat, too. I'm not gonna let anything happen to him."

Jackie's breath froze in her chest. He'd done it, confessed he loved someone—okay, the cat—but it meant he was capable of doing such a thing. She'd never heard him declare his love for anyone before now.

Joy tickled her eyes and threatened to come out as tears; then she remembered who lived at the Formans' house. "Doesn't Red hate cats?" she said. "How're we gonna hide Shade from him?"

Steven's smile returned. "I got an idea."

* * *

All of Shade's essentials had been sneaked into Steven's room: his litter box, food and water bowls, cat toys, and—maybe the most important thing of all—his first patron, Mrs. Forman. According to Steven, she'd taken Shade to the vet when Steven first found him. She'd paid for all of Shade's supplies, and now she had Shade cuddled in her arms and purring.

"Oh, ho, ho..." she was half-laughing, half-cooing, "you're just a little love, aren't you? Aren't you?" She nuzzled her face into Shade's fur, as Steven often liked to do. Then she said to Jackie, "Of course you can keep Shade here for a few days. Maybe you should make it a week... or two. Those fumigation chemicals are really dangerous for kitties," she bounced Shade in her arms, "aren't they? Aren't they?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Forman," Jackie said. "He won't be any trouble. He's really well-behaved."

"Which is surprising," Steven said and stroked the top of Shade's front paw, " since I'm kinda like his dad."

Jackie stared at him. Another startling confession. Steven felt parental toward Shade, and if Steven was the dad, that meant she was the mom—and she and Steven were basically married. Her hands wanted to crash together in applause, but she forced her excitement into a grin.

Mrs. Forman was grinning, too. She put Shade down onto Steven's cot then cupped the side of Steven's face. "You are just so sweet!" she said. "And don't you worry about Red. Schatzi's taken to hiding under the house, and Red doesn't want me going to my 'unhappy' place. A kitty for Kitty is just what the doctor ordered."

Her laughter filled the room before she left. Jackie was glad the Formans' dog wouldn't be a problem, and she hoped Red followed suit. Not that he should hide under the house, of course, but stay out of the basement while Shade was here.

"What?" Steven said.

Jackie's grin hadn't weakened. Her cheeks ached from it, and her joy was trained on his face. "Nothing. Just... thank you."

He leaned in for a kiss. "Yeah."

* * *

Hyde and Jackie had agreed, after a short conversation, how to handle Shade's safety. Shade would have to stay cooped up in Hyde's room if none of his protectors were in the basement—meaning Hyde, Jackie, or Donna. The cat wouldn't like it, but the plan was the best they could come up with.

Their living situation wasn't permanent, though. Hyde would probably have to move in with Jackie and help her out. He was eighteen, so legally, he could do that. The money he made from the Holiday Hotel would help with her bills, put food on her table. She had a good future ahead of her, man, but it would go to crap if she had to drop out of high school to survive.

He couldn't let that happen, but thinking about such a commitment decreased his tolerance for enclosed spaces. His room was normally big enough for him, but now it felt confining. The duct running from the boiler seemed lower than usual, and he lay back on his cot for a less-suffocating perspective.

Jackie was off cheering at rally for the football team. He'd wanted to go with her, but she insisted he stay with Shade, to "help him acclimate to his new surroundings." She was right. Hyde's presence always calmed Shade down, just like the cat did to him. But with Jackie's kiss lingering on his lips, Hyde was less than relaxed.

They'd fooled around before she left, but they hadn't been able to finish. She didn't want to be late for the rally. He touched his lips now, tried to soak Jackie's presence into his fingers. He missed her already. Un-freakin'-believable.

Shade leapt onto the cot and walked onto Hyde's stomach. Hyde grunted at the pressure. The cat put a lot of weight into his front paws and insisted burdening Hyde's ribs with it.

"Come on, Cat." Hyde petted Shade's back and gently pushed down on it. Shade got the idea and settled into a more comfortable position. He lay down on Hyde's chest, and his easy purr drew Hyde's thoughts from his mouth. "Jackie's parents really screwed her over, y'know?"

And they might've screwed Hyde's relationship with her, too. Their absence was forcing him to move faster than he wanted. Living with Jackie would be too damn domestic and too soon. He hadn't even said the "L" word to her yet. Didn't matter that he felt it—love—but letting her know was dangerous. She'd use that information to accelerate them into particles.

Hyde rubbed the bridge of Shade's nose, and the cat's eyes fell shut as a flash of light blinded Hyde. "What the—" Shade jumped off his chest, and Hyde grabbed his shades from his dresser. "Forman?"

Forman was standing in Hyde's doorway. Mrs. Forman's Polaroid camera was in his right hand, and his left waved a developing picture. "Donna told me about the cat," he said. "For the record, I think you make an adorable couple."

"Shut it, Forman."

"I don't think so." He held the picture at eye-level. "I'll call it 'The Orphan and His Cat'."

"No, shut the door. Don't want Shade getting out."

"Oh." Forman closed the door behind him. "So, Jackie's place is being fumigated, huh?"

"Yup." Hyde slid his shades onto his face, in case Forman wanted to take another picture. "She's staying at a hotel with her mom. One of Pam's boy toys tracked ants into the house."

A lie. His and Jackie's cover story, and Forman seemed to buy it. He couldn't know Jackie was sleeping in Hyde's room. No one could, not even Donna. She'd easily let it slip to Forman, and then kablooey. The whole thing would blow up in Hyde and Jackie's—and Shade's—faces.

"I know," Forman said, and he sat across from Hyde on the green ottoman. "Like I said, Donna told me." He stared at the developing picture in his hand and frowned. "Actually, it was more like she gave me orders. I have to protect Jackie's cat when no one else is around—on threat of no more sex."

Hyde smirked. Donna knew what happened to animals around here. Kelso had shot Eric's hamster with a BB gun. Red sprayed Donna's first cat, Mr. Bonkers, all the time with a hose. Now Schatzi, Mrs. Forman's dog, was too afraid to crawl out from under the house. The Formans did not do well by pets, and Hyde was glad to have Donna in Shade's corner.

The Polaroid picture was halfway developed, and Forman nodded at it. "Red isn't going to be happy about having a cat in his house. And since I've got to look after a creature I hate—"

"You can't hate him, man," Hyde said. "You don't even know him."

"I know he's a cat, and I hate cats. They're so haughty. Anyway," Forman pointed to Shade's litter box, where Shade was currently conducting his business, "seeing as you're the one who brought the devil's he-beast into our home, seems fair you should be as miserable as me. It's gonna be no picnic keeping Shade safe from Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Fez is liable to eat its food, and you just know Kelso's gonna strap fireworks to its back. So... I'm blackmailing you."

"You're what?" Hyde laughed. Even given a perfect blackmailing situation, Forman would foul it up. Hyde had witnessed this first-hand. Forman couldn't even bust his sister for nailing her college professor.

"I'm serious, Hyde," Forman said with a smile. "If you're not my slave for the duration of the cat's stay here, I'll go to Red with this picture." He held the now fully-developed Polaroid up so Hyde could see it. Shade was a cream-colored ball of fur on Hyde's chest, and his fuzzy chin lay flat on Hyde's shoulder. Not a bad shot. "I own you, my friend."

"You own crap. Red already knows."

Forman's smile fell. "What?"

"He doesn't want your mom going to her 'unhappy place'."

"Damn it!" Forman stood from the ottoman. "Wait, I can still blackmail you. I'll run an article in the school newspaper, 'Rebel Without a Cause Gets a Cat'." I can see it now..."

Hyde pushed himself off the cot and stepped toward him. "Do you want _me_ to go to my unhappy place, Forman? 'Cause I'm startin' to feel real unhappy right now. And you know what happens to people who make me unhappy."

Forman swallowed. Then he tossed the Polaroid at Hyde and fled the room.

Hyde shut the door after him. The Polaroid had fallen by the cot, and Hyde picked it up. The shot really was a nice one of him and Shade. "Thanks, Forman. This one's goin' in the album."

He pulled out a leatherette-bound photo album from his dresser. He'd taken the album from the Fotohut back when he worked there. It was filled with photos. One of his favorites showed Shade as a tiny kitten sleeping on a pile of Hyde's shirts, and he had loads of pictures of Shade with Jackie. Hyde was in a few with him, but Hyde did most of the picture-taking.

At the back of the album were pictures of the three of them—of Hyde, Jackie, and Shade together. They really looked like a family. In another favorite photo of his, Jackie held Shade in her arms like a big, fluffy baby, and Hyde's arm was draped around her waist.

He ran his his thumb over the picture. Someday, not soon, he would probably be okay making that family official. But he wanted a few years, maybe ten, to get to that place. If moving in with Jackie was the only way to keep her safe, though, their future might well pay the price.


	4. Beating the House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.
> 
>  **Author's Note:** Feeding cats tuna fish is bad for their health, and I don't recommend it. This story takes place in the 1970s, before the danger of tuna fish to cats was widely understood.

CHAPTER 4  
 **BEATING THE HOUSE**  


A week into Jackie and Shade's stay with Hyde, Jackie had commandeered one of Hyde's drawers. Hyde didn't mind. Her toiletries smelled fresher than anything he had in his room, both floral and fruity. Shade, meanwhile, had claimed his favorite spots in the basement. He liked sleeping on the worn sofa and sitting atop the clothes drier, especially after it was used for a cycle. If Mrs. Forman left a pile of clothes, dirty or clean, in the laundry basket, Shade would curl up on that, too.

Mrs. Forman never admonished him for sitting where he shouldn't have. She's was half in love with the cat, and Hyde was glad. Her feelings meant she'd keep him safe from Red.

Shade had also grown fond of Donna and Fez. Donna knew how to pet him since she had her own cat, and Fez liked entertaining him with cat toys. In fact, Shade seemed to get along with everyone who came into the basement, even Forman, but Kelso was another story. As soon as Kelso made his presence known, Shade would dart into Hyde's room and hide—

But not tonight.

Hyde had strolled into the basement, ready for some stash-and-cat time. Nothing relaxed him more after a long shift at the Holiday Hotel, save having sex with Jackie. But she wouldn't be around for a while. She had a test to study for, and she couldn't do it in the basement. The place distracted her too much. Kelso usually pestered her for attention every few minutes, which meant Hyde had to frog him every few minutes.

But now Kelso was pestering Shade behind the couch. He'd dumped a can of tuna fish onto the concrete floor, and Shade had been coaxed by the smell. He was chowing down with no thought of Kelso, who was busy strapping fireworks to Shade's back.

"Son of a bitch," Hyde whispered. "Forman was right." He was a good eight feet away from Kelso and made no sudden movements. He didn't want to spook Shade. Instead, he crept slowly and quietly toward the couch. Once he was close enough, he grasped Kelso's shoulder and said, "What're you doing to my cat?"

Kelso stiffened. "Giving him some tuna fish. Damn!"

"With a side of fireworks?"

"Those were on him when I got here."

Hyde bent down and scooped Shade into his arms. He untied the twine Kelso used to strap the fireworks to Shade's body, and the various rockets fell to the floor, some into the tuna fish. Hyde intended to carry Shade to his room, but the cat was having none of it. He scrambled to the ground and returned to his tuna bribe.

Kelso bolted for the basement door, but Hyde grabbed his arm and wrapped the twine around his wrist. Kelso made another dash for the exit, but Hyde had made a noose knot, something Forman had taught him years ago. The knot closed tightly on Kelso's wrist and elicited a yelp.

Hyde used the twine as a leash and dragged Kelso to the basement stairs. He tied the twine's loose end to the wooden bannister, and Kelso shouted, "Hey!"

"You try to escape, you'll lose your hand. I'll cut you free in a minute."

Hyde picked Shade up again and petted his soft, furry head. Shade's breath smelled of tuna. "I know you like that stuff, Cat, but too much ain't good for ya." He deposited Shade safely into his room and shut the door. Then he returned to Kelso by the stairs. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Nothing!" Kelso said. He was attempting to untie the noose knot on his wrist. "I told you, the fireworks were on him when I—"

"Save it." Hyde tugged gently on the twine, and it brought Kelso's gaze to him. "You wanna shoot me with a BB gun 'cause I'm with Jackie? Fine. I'm a big boy. I can kick your ass. But the cat's off limits, got it?" He brought his face close to Kelso's and smiled wickedly. "Otherwise, you're gonna be swimming with rubber ducks.

Kelso's mouth dropped open. "How did—who told you I—?"

Hyde backed off, but his smile deepened. "Your brother Casey, about a year ago. Lit him up with some of my best stuff, and he sang like a canary. Never knew you had a rubber-duck phobia..." his smile turned into soft laughter, "but I found it real interesting."

"All right, all right," Kelso said, and his breath shortened. "I'll—I'll leave the stupid cat alone. Just don't with the rubber ducks, okay? I can't stand their beady little eyes."

"Cat's smarter than you." Hyde walked to the shelves beneath the stairs and grabbed a pair of scissors. He cut Kelso free from the twine, and Kelso rubbed his wrist.

"That really hurt, man," Kelso said. He was glowering, but he'd earned his pain.

Hyde glowered back. "Get out."

Kelso wasted no time. He jetted from the basement as if it were on fire.

Hyde cleaned up the tuna fish and fireworks before going back to his room. Shade had knocked Hyde's Old Spice deodorant from the dresser. He was using it as a toy on the cot, batting it into folds of Hyde's blanket then tackling it.

"You got a ton of cat stuff to play with in here, and you still gotta use my crap?" Hyde swiped the deodorant from the blanket. Then he tossed it onto his pillow, and Shade leapt after it. "Come on, get the evil deodorant," Hyde said. "Kick its ass."

Shade tumbled onto his side as if he understood and hugged the deodorant to his fuzzy belly.

Hyde chuckled. "You're just like your mom, man—too damn cute, so you think you can get away with anything." He scratched Shade's cheek affectionately. The cat could play with whatever the hell he wanted. Hyde was just relieved he'd caught Kelso in time... because, at this point, Hyde had trouble imagining his life without the orange fluffball—or without Shade's human mom.

Jackie.

* * *

Jackie and Shade had spent two weeks calling the Formans' basement home. Or maybe Steven had become their home. On Saturday night, Jackie went to a party thrown by Julie, the cheerleading captain. Jackie had wanted Steven to come with her, but he couldn't stand her friends. Not that she really considered them friends, more like bitchy colleagues. They had no idea she and Steven were even dating. None of them ever stopped talking long enough to listen to anyone else. But _,_ much to her chagrin, she'd stopped talking long enough to realize this was how they operated.

That was Steven's fault. Ever since he'd opened his doors to her, she'd begun to change. She didn't always like it, but the reward was worth the discomfort, even the headache-inducing thoughts he inspired.

The party had ended, and Jackie was walking back to the Formans'. Julie's place was only fifteen minutes away. Steven had offered to pick her up, but another cheerleader, Alice, lived in the Formans' neighborhood. They went together, and Jackie reached the Formans' backyard without incident.

She tiptoed down the backyard stairs to the basement door. She didn't want to wake Eric's parents, and who knew how sound traveled through their house? The clacking of her thick-heeled boots would probably travel up two floors to their bedroom.

She unlocked the basement door and opened it. Her tight breathing relaxed. She'd come home, but her feet stumbled over something as she stepped inside. She hit the floor with a _thump!_ and whatever tripped her also collapsed with a percussive, melodic crash.

The basement was dark; she'd had no chance to turn on the lights. She tried to stand, but her boot skidded on what had to be her broken assailant. She fell again and landed with another _thump!_ Her hands patted the ground. Something jagged bit into palms. Had someone booby-trapped the basement? "Jackie?" Steven was whispering in the dark, and her eyes stung when the lights came on. His hands lifted her up, and before he shut off the lights, she caught a glimpse of her attacker: _Legos._ Some idiot, probably Eric, had left a Lego set in front of the basement door. Its craggy detritus littered the floor.

Steven pulled Jackie into his room and turned on his single, bare bulb."What the hell happened?" he said.

"Stupid Eric happened. I've got Legos stuck to my skirt!" She slapped the fabric over her thighs, and two solitary Legos clattered to the floor.

Steven sat on his cot and glanced at his clock radio. "It's late. The Formans have gotta be asleep. They probably didn't hear you—but you gotta look where you're going, man."

"I would have if the thing hadn't been _right there_." She suppressed the urge to stamp her foot. It would've made another noise they didn't need, and she didn't want to disturb Shade. He was sleeping on the armchair, a ball of orange curled up on green. "Steven, you saw how dark it was. What did you want me to do? Bring a broom to the basement and sweep it in front of me before I entered?"

Steven sighed. "Okay, okay..." and he gestured to her. "Just get undressed and come 'ere."

She did as he said. She got into her soft, flannel pajamas and slid into the cot with him. Her nerves were frazzled, but they calmed down as he cuddled into her back.

"How was the party?" he said. His breath warmed the nape of her neck.

"I'll tell you in the morning.

"So it was boring."

She huffed. "It was _not._ It was..." She huffed again. No use in fighting the truth. "Yeah, it was boring." Her lips curved into a frown. Steven was discovering what her coded sentences meant. She'd have trouble testing him in the future if he kept that up, translating all her words into their actual meanings. But she let that worry leave her for now. He felt so good lying against her back, with his arm holding her snugly. She grasped his hand and pressed it into her chest. "Good night, Steven."

"Night, doll."

She began to fall asleep. Slumber came easily when she was with him, but a loud _bang!_ jolted her awake. The door had burst open, and Mrs. Forman's voice filled the air. "Jackie?"

"What the hell?" Mr. Forman said.

Jackie peered up. The Formans were standing in front of the cot, including a sheet-wrapped Eric. They were all staring at her and Steven, and her pulse tightened. She wanted to escape, to hide beneath the cot, but a gasped, "Oh, my God!" shot from her mouth.

Mrs. Forman echoed the statement: "Oh, my God!"

Steven must have been groggy, though. His focus was clearly on something less important. "Forman," he said. "are you naked?"

Shade's head peeked up from the armchair, and his eyes flashed green. " _Mrow?_ "

"The cat's still here, too?" Mr. Forman said. "Kitty, you told me it was gone a week ago."

"And—and I thought it was," Mrs. Forman said.

That was a lie, and Jackie swallowed a grumble. Mrs. Forman had said Shade could stay here as long as he had to. Her schizophrenic, menopausal hormones must have taken over.

"Everybody upstairs," Red shouted, "to the kitchen, _now!_

Jackie pushed herself out of the cot. She picked Shade off the armchair.

Red scowled. "Leave the cat."

* * *

The Formans discovery of Jackie in Steven's cot was bad, but things got worse in the kitchen. Steven opened his big mouth and told them about her mother's absence, that she still hadn't returned from Mexico.

"Steven, that's private!" Jackie said. Her skin and muscles burned with humiliation. Jackie Burkhart didn't tell sob stories to garner pity. She inspired awe and jealousy at her magnificence. But after much discussion, the Formans agreed to let her spend the night in Laurie's room. Shade, however, had to stay with Steven in the basement.

Steven sneaked her a quick kiss before Mr. Forman ushered him away. She was led to Laurie's room afterward and ordered not to break anything. Mr. Forman didn't seem to know what his daughter had done to her, what Laurie had broken inside Jackie's chest. If Jackie destroyed anything material of Laurie's, it wouldn't even come close to payback.

Fortunately, Steven had mended what Laurie helped shatter. That fact gave little comfort, though, when Jackie got into Laurie's skank-den of a bed. Not only was it a strange place, but thoughts of Michael's cheating assaulted her mind. At least Steven would never put her through that kind of hell. He was too honorable to do such a thing.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but most of the night was spent twisting in Laurie's sheets. They were poor substitutes for Steven's arms and Shade's purring. She woke the next morning exhausted and cranky, but her mood soon eroded into anger.

An hour after breakfast, Donna threw a pity party for her—in front of almost everyone. Bob, Mrs. Forman, Eric, Michael... they were all in the kitchen and rallied by Donna to "feel sorry for the poor, little rich girl." Those weren't her exact words, but they were close enough. She'd invited Jackie to live with her, Shade included, because of Jackie's "hard times".

"God, I am so sick of this," Jackie said. "I don't have hard times. I'm Jackie Burkhart. I got voted 'Best Cheerleader' by the largest margin in cheerleader history, okay? I have a _wonderful_ life."

"Yeah, but, Jackie..." Donna's voice grew soft, aggravatingly soft, and it abraded Jackie's self-control, "your dad's in prison, and your mom—"

Jackie's eyes narrowed. As much as she and Shade needed somewhere to stay, it couldn't happen like this. "I'm sorry, Donna, but you're just not popular enough for me to live with."

"I'm not popular enough?" Donna stepped forward, and her tone lost all its gentleness. "I was doing you a favor because I felt _bad_ for you."

"Well don't." Jackie grimaced. Her expression would create lines around her mouth, but she was too furious too care. "I don't need to be your good deed for the day."

"Fine. There's the door. Don't let it hit your popular little butt on the way out."

"Fine."

Jackie stomped out of the Formans' kitchen. Everyone's eyes had to be on her through the sliding glass door. Her back felt riddled with their bullet-like stares, but she strode out of the neighborhood with measured steps. She sped up only once she was a safe distance away, and she frantically unlocked the door to her giant, sprawling house.

Tears and screams poured from her body as she raged through the empty living room. Donna and the rest of them saw her as pathetic, but _they_ were the pathetic ones. They had families. They had guarantees of being loved by people who'd keep them safe. Jackie had only herself. No one around her knew what it was like to be utterly alone—

Except for Steven.

She slumped onto her white, cushiony couch. Thank God he hadn't been at the pity party. She didn't need him looking down on her, too. But had he heard Donna's awful words, he probably wouldn't have been swayed by them. Both his parents had abandoned him, more than once.

Fresh tears tumbled down Jackie's cheeks, and her throat felt achingly thick. Steven still had something she didn't: a best friend who understood him. He'd never shared the specifics of how he came to live with the Formans', but Eric couldn't have used pity to invite him. Steven never would have accepted it.

And neither could Jackie. Not from Donna, not from anyone.

* * *

"So, what? It's my fault because I didn't ask her right?"

Donna's question made Hyde's fingers tighten around his bottle of Amber Draft. For someone so observant, she could be damn dense sometimes. Once Mrs. Forman gave him the news—that Donna had royally screwed up with Jackie—he found Donna in her kitchen, red-faced and pissed. He kept his own emotions level. She could be pushed only so far, and he had to practice what he preached. He had to approach her the right way.

"Okay," he said, "how about when your mom left? Think about how you would've felt if you walked into a room full of people, and everyone's talkin' about how sad your life is and how much they pity you."

Donna raised her bottle of Amber Draft to her lips, but she frowned instead of taking a sip. "Yeah, I guess I get that."

He was close, man. He just had to bring it on home. Jackie was full of pride. Donna had a load of it, too, but her life wasn't an unstable pile of rocks. She had a guaranteed place to live, the commitment of all commitments from Forman. Hyde couldn't give Jackie either of those things.

Not now, at least. He had too much crap to figure out, like what he wanted to do after high school. Jackie needed to get her ass to college and set up her future, and she wouldn't be able to do that without a secure base of operations. Their relationship had to come second to that.

He spoke again. He tried to remain Zen, distant, but some emotion squeezed through his defenses. "I'm just saying that Jackie needs a place to stay. And it'd be really cool if, maybe, you could ask her in a way that doesn't make her feel bad."

Donna leaned her head back and groaned. "Fine." Then she ranted about how popular she actually was—citing free Slurpees from brain-damaged Tommy as proof—but Hyde only half-listened.

He'd been on edge since last night, when he had to sleep without Jackie against him. He wouldn't relax until she agreed to live with the Pinciottis. Because she had to, man. For herself, for Shade, for Hyde... for the sake of their family.

* * *

Jackie sat in the Formans' tacky kitchen, at their breakfast table. Donna was sitting across from her, and she looked reasonably scolded. Her red hair hid half her face, but the flush in her cheeks came through. Someone must have chided her for what she'd done earlier. Was it Mrs. Forman? Mr. Forman?

Regardless, Jackie's muscles were tense. Her arms were folded over her chest, but she listened intently while Donna pleaded her case.

"So you see, Jackie," she said, "the reason I asked you to stay with me before is because... well, you were right. I am _unpopular._ "

"Go on."

"I'm too tall, and red hair is gross. If I don't do something soon, my unpopularity is gonna follow me to college—" Donna clasped her hands together, prayer-like, on the table, "unless you help. Please come stay with me! Jackie, help me..." her voice lowered, almost to the point of muting her last words, "be more like you."

A smile tickled Jackie's lips, but she refused to give it life. "Well, as long as everybody knows I'm doing it for you, I'll do it."

"Great," Donna did allow a smile, but it looked pained. _All the better._

Jackie knew Donna had no intention of becoming more like her. She'd been pressing Donna for years to do it, but appearances were what mattered. Their friends and classmates would think she was doing Donna a service.

They stood from the table, and Jackie said, "Hey, Donna," before enclosing Donna in a hug, "thank you." She held Donna a little longer than she normally would have. Donna was sacrificing her pride to keep Jackie safe... and Jackie was grateful.

* * *

Hyde sat on his cot and played with Shade. They were using a plastic straw attached to some yarn. Hyde had made the toy, and it was one of Shade's favorites. The cat seemed to love jumping up and batting at it. Sometimes he'd capture the straw in his mouth and try to walk away with it.

Playing with Shade offered a good distraction, one Hyde needed. Anxiety had taken up residence in his chest. Waiting for the end of Donna and Jackie's private "meeting" had him chewing gum until his jaw hurt.

Shade pounced on the straw as Hyde's door swung open. Jackie entered, freakin' cute in her pigtails. The colorful ribbons in her hair made her appear younger, _too_ young. No dirty thoughts could enter his head, not with her looking that way. All he saw was a vulnerable kid on the verge of being homeless.

"Guess what, Steven," she said cheerfully. "I'm going to be Donna's popularity coach! It's a full-time job, so I'll have to move in with her."

Donna strode into the room a moment later. A canvas bag was slung over her shoulder, and Hyde offered her a silent thank you. His shades were off, and his eyes had flicked up to meet hers. Donna seemed to understand because she nodded once.

"You can start with this." Jackie plucked Shade's straw toy from Hyde's fingers and wound the yarn around it. Then she tossed it into Donna's bag.

"Packin' Shade's things?" Hyde said.

"Uh-huh." Jackie yanked Hyde's backpack from where he'd wedged it, between the armchair and the wall. "Can I borrow this?" Hyde gave his assent. "I have to pack my own things—"

He laughed once. "All your crap won't fit in there."

"Of course it won't. This is just for the stuff I kept here." She opened her drawer in his dresser and began shoveling her toiletries into his backpack.

Donna, meanwhile, picked up Shade's toys. They were scattered on the concrete floor, and Hyde said, "Hope Mr. Twinkle Toes doesn't mind gettin' a brother."

"They'll probably fight it out for a while before settling into their alpha-beta positions," Donna said.

"Oh, they better not!" Jackie jabbed a finger in Donna's direction. "If your mangy cat puts one hair of Shade's out of place—"

"Shade takes after his old man," Hyde said. "He'll protect himself."

Shade was sniffing at Donna's boots. He must have smelled something he liked because he rubbed his cheeks against them repeatedly. Then again, he did the same thing to Hyde's sweaty undershirts after work. Maybe the cat just wanted to cover up the funk with his own scent.

"Shade isn't a fighter, Steven," Jackie said. "He doesn't have a bad bone in his body. He barely moves if you're about to sit on top of him. He purrs instead."

She was right. Shade was the gentlest animal Hyde had ever encountered. He never bit, never hissed. He purred if Hyde or Jackie simply looked at him. Even when they had to clip his nails, he relaxed in Hyde's arms and rumbled away as Jackie did the deed.

Hyde cast a warning glance at Donna. "You gotta keep your cat from messin' with ours."

"Aww, is Hyde worried about his widdle kitty?" Donna dumped three foam balls into her bag. "You've become such a softy!"

"Yeah, well, Shade better not get all _twitchy_ by living with you. Don't turn him into Forman."

"Don't worry," Donna said. "If the cats get too rough with each other, there's always the spray bottle."

"That you'll only use to spray _your_ cat with," Jackie said.

"No, whichever cat's doing the aggressing,"

Jackie didn't seem to like Donna's response. She had her hair dryer in her hands, and she pointed it at Donna like a gun. "Don't make me plug this in, Pinciotti."

"Hey," Hyde stepped between them, "Bob better have a spray bottle of his own... 'cause he's gonna need it if _you two_ get too rough with each other."

"Oh, whatever." Jackie lowered the hair dryer and put it into Hyde's backpack. "Donna, could you bring Shade's litter box over first? Consider it your first lesson in how to be popular: Kissing Up to Those More Popular Than You."

Donna gritted her teeth but forced a smile. "Of course." She dragged the litter box out of Hyde's room, and Jackie shut the door behind her. Then Jackie thrust herself into Hyde's arms.

"What's up?" he said. The urgency of her embrace startled him. She was sniffling into his chest, and her body shook. Was she was crying? _Damn it._ He hated when she did that. All he wanted to do was fix it, to rid her of the hurt—even if he didn't know how. Worse, when he didn't know how, it increased his chances of screwing up with her. "Jackie?"

"Shade's gonna miss you..." she whispered. " _I'm_ gonna miss you."

He stroked the back of her hair. He had a tendency to do it frantically when she cried, but he forced his hand to go slow. "I'll be right next door."

"I know, but it won't be the same." Her voice became wet with tears, and she held him tighter. "I got used to sleeping in the same bed with you."

He said nothing but continued to stroke her hair. Jackie didn't know it, but her living with the Pinciottis was the best thing for them. He was going to miss her at night, too—and miss their cat being around—but the distance meant they had a shot at making it long-term. Being pushed into a situation they weren't ready for was a future-destroyer, man. He'd watched it happen to his own parents. He wasn't going to let that happen to him and Jackie. No damn way.


	5. High-Stakes Gambling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 5  
 **HIGH-STAKES GAMBLING**  


_The Burkhart Mansion_

_A Year Later_

_**...** _

Jackie hung up her pink phone gingerly, but she'd wanted to slam the receiver down. The call she'd just received was her fork in the road, something she knew was coming. A Chicago television producer had offered her a job. He enjoyed the reel of her best public access show clips, and according to him, she had "lots of creative potential".

The phone lay innocently on her nightstand. Her foot ached to smash into it, just as her foot had smashed into Steven's shin—countless times, it seemed—during the last three months. His attitude toward her lately was less than encouraging. Shade's, however, was as warm as ever. The cat padded up to her on the bed and rubbed his fuzzy cheek against her chin.

"If I take this job," she said and petted the top of his head, "it means I'll have to leave you for a while... until I can afford a decent apartment."

Whatever place she'd rent at first would probably be small, _very_ small. Nothing compared to her mother's giant house. Pam Burkhart—now back to Pam _Bailey,_ her maiden name—won the house in the divorce settlement with Jackie's father. The mansion and the Lincoln were the only things spared from his bankruptcy. Jackie had moved back into the house, but it didn't feel like home. No place did anymore, except Shade.

He was over two-years-old now and over two-feet long from hind legs to front paws, but he still had the face of a kitten. His pouchy cheeks made him look younger, and she never got bored watching him simply live. But as much as she loved him, he wasn't enough to anchor her in Point Place.

"Donna will take good care of you," she said. She stroked his cream-colored fur as tears rose in her eyes. "Well, she'll make sure you're fed and—and go to the vet."

Her throat tightened, and a good sob built up in her chest. She tried to imprison it, but her cries fought their way out of her. "Damn, you Steven!" she whispered. This was his fault. He'd forced her into this decision. After more than two years together, he still couldn't commit to her. She'd pressed him, and he finally confessed a life with her would be "crap".

"No," she said to Shade, "that wasn't exactly what your daddy said." But Steven's enthusiasm for their relationship was non-existent. She'd broken up with him over it, with no real cards in her hand. He had the advantage. She wanted him too much to stay apart, and they reconciled on the condition she wouldn't talk about their future anymore.

But now she had an ace to pull out. She'd be moving away. Maybe that would shock Steven's heart back to life. He'd either realize how important she was to him—or she'd realize how _un_ important she was to him.

* * *

Jackie waited until nightfall to make her play. She'd gone to the basement, hoping to find Steven alone, but Michael and Fez were there watching television with him. They stuck around even after she asked them to leave. But her heart was beating too quickly for her to care, and as she sat on the couch, Michael and Fez became non-entities to her.

"Steven," she said, "this TV producer called to tell me he loved my public access show... and then he offered me a job at his station in Chicago starting next week."

"Whoa." Steven lost his casual demeanor and leaned forward in his chair. "You're gonna take a job and move to Chicago?"

Her speeding heart fluttered. His body language was what she'd longed to see; it was his tell. He actually cared about what she was saying. In fact, he looked like she'd hit him with a clothing rack full of thick coats. His sunglasses weren't dark enough to conceal his alarm.

"No," she said, wanting to allay both their fears. "No, not yet." She reached out and grasped his hand. His fingers tightened around her palm but only briefly. "I wanted to talk to you about it first. Steven," she inhaled a steadying breath, "this is my dream come true, but you are the most important thing in the world to me. So I'm willing to give it all up and stay here with you, but if I do that..." She searched his eyes before continuing, but his lashes half-concealed them. He was looking down, not at her. "But if I do that," she repeated, "I need to know we're gonna get married."

His fingers grew limp in her hand, but she refused to let go. "Jackie, we just agreed not to talk about our future."

She squeezed his palm. "But our future is happening right now."

"What about Shade?

"I'm sure Donna will take him."

Steven straightened up, and his hand pulled free from her. "You're not taking him with you?"

"Not at first, and I can't leave him with my mom. You know how she is." Her muscles tensed. Time had come to put all her chips in the pot. "Look, the station needs an answer by noon on Sunday, and I do, too."

"Well..." his voice grew soft, almost to a whisper, "I don't know what to say right now."

Her mouth dropped open, and an inner blizzard chilled her chest. That was his response? Where was his overture? Where was his, "Please, Jackie, don't leave"? She needed every bit of willpower not to scream at him. Had the last two years between them meant nothing?

She asked him none of these questions. Her bet had been made, and he'd raised her. She called to see his cards, and he had a day-and-a-half to show them.

This was unlike any round of poker she'd ever played. He hadn't folded, which was a good sign. But did he think she was bluffing? That this was just a manipulation on her part? He never folded when they played actual cards. On too many rainy days when they stayed in, he always bet until the bitter end, even when it was clear she had a royal flush. She needed him to do so now, to bet on their future together, not to throw in his cards.

* * *

Jackie was gone. She'd left a hurricane in her wake, but Hyde felt preternaturally calm. He was in the eye of the storm, man, and he walked measuredly toward his room. Kelso and Fez were shouting things at him, but he couldn't hear them, not over the driving wind in his skull.

He disappeared through his door and locked it. Then a bolt of Jackie's lightning split him open.

He tore his Sex Pistols poster off the wall, and after that, freezing rain numbed his awareness. He was lying on his cot when he regained himself. The comforter and sheets Jackie gave him had been tossed somewhere, and the lumpy mattress dug into his back. His room was probably trashed. His knuckles throbbed, and the skin beneath his fingernails stung. His hands must have done some real damage, but he couldn't turn his face to scope it out. His gaze was iced to the ceiling.

Thoughts whipped inside his head as the hurricane weakened to a tropical storm. Too much had happened in the last year, and his body still had trouble processing it. He'd learned Bud wasn't his biological father. That fact, however, couldn't negate the last twenty years of Bud's weakness, of his botched parenting. It had stained Hyde's outlook on life, a swollen and bloated vision drifting into a river drainage pipe.

And the guy who actually was Hyde's father? William Barnett. He had a cool style and decent taste in music—and more money than Hyde had ever hoped to see—but none of these things really mattered. They man gave a crap about Hyde without a catch. Hell, W.B. seemed to love him, and all Hyde had to do was exist.

He always felt cagey asking anyone for help, especially when it came to dough. But he'd done so anyway, to W.B. three times in the last year. The first request was a stereo, to replace the one he'd abandoned back at Bud's old place. He'd wanted something that could play cassette tapes and records. Never expected the expensive Hi-Fi W.B. bought him.

Hyde sprang off the cot. _His stereo._ Man, had he wrecked it? His focus shot to the bookshelf, but his stereo was safe, as were his records. He rarely thanked God for anything, and he didn't now. But he was damn grateful to himself. At least his mindless rage hadn't destroyed his tunes.

He'd knocked his small dresser to the floor, though. The drawers were hanging out, and clothes and miscellaneous possessions had spilled out. The armchair was flipped over, too, and the ottoman looked as if he'd kicked it a few dozen times.

The sight wasn't pretty, especially since he'd destroyed some of his favorite things—like his Sex Pistols poster and the framed picture of himself, Jackie, and Shade. But he far preferred the destruction to his silent, tear-shedding reaction to his father's— _step_ father's fate.

Hyde's second request to W.B. had been to find Bud. W.B. hired a private investigator, and the answers he came back with weren't pleasant. Bud had changed his name to "Jim Franklin". He'd tried to escape his loan sharks, but they found him anyway. Bud "Jim Franklin" Hyde's body was discovered in the Chicago River, wedged inside a culvert.

Freakin' _Chicago,_ man, where Jackie was headed. Hyde picked up his dresser in an attempt to clean up, but thinking about her sent fresh anger into his body. He shoved the dresser onto its other side, and it crashed to the floor again. The middle right-side drawer splintered. He slammed his boot into it and broke the drawer completely.

None of this had to be, damn it. His third request to W.B., made just a few days ago, could've stopped her. _Hyde_ could've stopped her without a too-early proposal being part of the deal.

Jackie's college scholarships hadn't come through. Her trust fund had kept her afloat when her parents no longer had an income. But after her mother came back from Mexico, Pam was in so much debt that Jackie paid it off and depleted the rest of her trust fund.

Hyde snatched one of his dress shirts from the floor. He looked for something sharp to shred it with but found nothing. He plunked down on the ottoman instead and bent over his knees. His hands clasped together behind his neck, and he shut his eyes. Jackie had done the same as him, tried to protect a parent who didn't deserve it. And now Hyde's inaction had led them to here.

He'd been waiting for the right time, man. The right approach. W.B. had agreed to pay for Jackie's college, but that pride of hers—Hyde wasn't sure if she'd accept W.B.'s cash. She always claimed to be a gold digger, but she'd become something else under Hyde's influence. Proof of that was her unceasing motto to him: "If it makes you happy, then I'm happy."

Even if it involved him covered in car grease.

She seemed most at ease when he followed his own interests. That was the damn key. What would make her happiest?

She didn't know it, but Hyde's waffling had come down to that question: _what would make Jackie happiest?_ He wasn't worried about his own life turning to crap. _Her_ life was the one he didn't want to screw up.

With her financial means to go to college gone, she'd become too focused on him. He'd wanted her to concentrate on her own future, not theirs— because if they were gonna work out, they'd work out.

Hyde maneuvered around his fallen furniture and dropped onto his cot. He had no energy left to fix up his room or take off his clothes. Not even his boots. The lumpy mattress pushed into his side, but he closed his eyes. A storm still thundered inside his brain, but after a while, he couldn't tell which were his thoughts and which were dreams.

In the morning, the first thing he focused on was a brown paper bag. His stash. He'd tossed it onto the floor. Maybe smoking would clear his head because a new question clogged it: _would Jackie be better off with him or on her own?_

A necessary trip to the bathroom emptied his bladder but not his doubts. A circle was definitely needed, and he got as comfortable as he could in his trashed room. He righted the armchair, sat down, and indulged deeply into stash, smoking bowl after bowl until his question dissolved into vapor.

No answer was waiting for him once he came down. His THC-saturated neurons had come up with a killer idea for a movie, but the plot didn't involve a hot, loudmouth brunette. Just a bunch of chase sequences and badass explosions.

Next on his list to try: alcohol. His parents' favorite go-to solution. Red's buddy owned a beer warehouse, and the buddy's son brought Hyde and his friends for a visit. They spent all afternoon and night drinking Schlitz and Amber Ale, but Hyde's memory of it was fuzzy. He woke up the next morning in his still-wrecked room. His head pounded, but it was also—finally—very clear.

He dragged himself to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was only a few steps outside his door. He downed aspirin, and he let it work before attempting to leave the basement. The after-effects of his binge were freakin' righteous. Even with his shades on, keeping his eyes open was a struggle, and his mouth tasted like death. But at long last his road, as forked as it was, had a which-way sign.

His stomach rumbled, sounding a lot like Shade's purring. He managed to climb the stairs and ate a satisfactory brunch of cereal in the kitchen. The pounding in his head had abated, but sensitivity still plagued his body. Preparing a substantial meal would've taken too much effort.

He went to the living room afterward and half-collapsed on the couch. Forman was already sitting there and watching TV, _watching_ being the operative word. The volume had been turned completely down.

"Hangover?" Hyde said.

Forman leaned his head back on the couch. "Ohhh, yeah."

A smile threaded across Hyde's lips. Last night must've been some kind of bender. Forman was paler than usual, and Hyde could've easily fallen back asleep. He was already practically lying down. All he had to do was shut his eyes, but he looked at his watch instead.

The big hand was inching toward the number twelve. The time startled him, but only his mouth reacted. "Well," he said, "its almost noon. Guess I gotta go talk to Jackie."

"Nothing like waiting 'til the last minute," Forman said.

"Yeah... she'll appreciate that."

"What are you gonna tell her?

A round, yellow pillow was stuck beneath Hyde's arm. He made a feeble attempt to move it. "That I'm gonna make her miserable."

"So you're saying no?"

"Nope."

Forman didn't seem to know what to make of his answer, and Hyde mustered a laugh. He probably sounded nuts, and he felt a little nuts. Getting hitched had never been in his life-plan, but neither had everything else Jackie opened him up to.

"Steven?" Mrs. Forman appeared from the kitchen with a white envelope. "Jackie stopped by and asked me to give you this note."

She passed the envelope into Hyde's hands. Its heaviness made him sit up. Something besides paper was inside. He opened the envelope and pulled out the note—and a pair of keys on a key chain.

 _Steven,_ the note began. No pleasantries. None of her usual scribbled hearts. Just, "Steven". His heart began to pound as his head had earlier, but he leaned forward and continued reading.  
 _  
It's clear you've made your decision, so I've made mine. By the time you read this, I'll be in Chicago._

He stopped reading. His mouth felt dry. He swallowed a few times to moisten it.

_Please bring Shade over to Donna's. She's agreed to take him in, but I had no time to get him there. All of his things are packed and ready to go. I left a copy of the house keys for you in the envelope._

_I love you, but I also love myself. Since you don't want a future with me, a life, I have to forge ahead on my own. You're free now. Please, don't waste that freedom._

—Jackie

Hyde's body grew stiff. His fingers were like brittle twigs, and they held the note in a kind of stasis. Her keys dangled from his pinky, which he kept very still. If he moved it, he feared the finger would snap off. His tongue, too, had become a husk, but he managed to say, "Guess she took the job in Chicago, and she left this morning."

"Oh, you poor baby," Mrs. Forman said. She seemed on the verge of crying, but that was the last thing he needed.

He looked over the note again, making sure he hadn't missed anything. Then he stood up.

"Where are you going?" Forman said.

"Got somethin' to do."

Fluidity and speed returned to Hyde's rigid, sluggish limbs. He slammed the kitchen's swinging door open and raced down to the basement. The set of keys clutched in his hand weren't enough. They were Jackie's, and he needed his own. He grabbed his denim jacket off the coat rack, and two minutes later, he was in the Camino, burning pavement.

* * *

Jackie had folded. Steven should have shown his cards long before noon, but he'd let his absence speak for itself. By ten a.m., she was out of the game.

Accepting the TV station job went smoothly. The hiring producer had retained his enthusiasm for her, but her day quickly became a farce. First, she discovered the Lincoln was missing. Her mother had taken it to Tijuana. Why? Because Jackie had told her last night about— _possibly_ —moving to Chicago. So her mother left to go "cope".

Then Shade, as if sensing Jackie's impending departure, had an accident. He left a dirty little present on her living room's pristine white carpet. That wasn't like him at all. He was always so clean, to the point of being obsessive. Normally, he took several minutes covering his doings in the litter box. He even scraped the bathroom tile outside the box, as if it would conceal the lingering smell.

Jackie cleaned up his mess off the rug as best she could. She also considered leaving it in the envelope for Steven, but he clearly thought little of her. The sentiment would be lost on him.

She spent a tearful fifteen minutes cuddling Shade. Leaving him was a horrible part of this, but she trusted Steven to keep him safe. Steven might have fallen out of love with her, but he still loved their cat.

All she had left to do was deliver the note. Doing so should have been simple, giving the envelope to one of the Formans and leaving. But Mrs. Forman kept Jackie in the kitchen and cried on her shoulder about stupid Eric leaving for Africa. If he'd just shown up at his damn wedding to Donna, they could've gone to Madison together liked they planned. But, no. Eric had to wimp-out, like all men did.

Jackie eventually extricated herself from Mrs. Forman. Seeing Steven was not in her plan, but with every sob Mrs. Forman let loose, Jackie feared he'd come into the kitchen. Fortunately, that didn't happen, and she escaped the Formans' house without another bruise on her heart.

She marched over to Michael's apartment afterward. She banged on the door until he opened it. He looked terrible, hungover, but she demanded his car. He said he couldn't drive, which was fine. She still had enough emotional control to drive herself.

He washed his face, got dressed, and wrote a quick note for Fez. His garage wasn't too far away from the apartment, but once they were outside, he walked too slowly for Jackie's mood. She jabbed him in the back to hurry up.

"Damn, Jackie!" He scowled; then he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "I missed this."

She shrugged him off. "Stop it, Michael!"

But her ire seemed to make him happier. "I'm so glad you're moving to Chicago. Now I'll have someone to do it with when I get bored of seeing Betsy."

 _Get bored?_ Jackie looked up at the sky. It was overcast with clouds, gray. Michael's brain must've been the same inside, fogged over with clouds. How could he get bored of seeing his child? Did he not know how lucky he was to have a family?

"Yeah, visiting her and Brooke is great," he continued, "but it's not always easy finding a hot pair of legs. And Brooke's dating some doctor, so having you around's gonna—"

" _Ugh._ Just because I'm not with Steven anymore doesn't mean you get a free ride to me."

"But I'm giving _you_ a free ride. That's gotta count for something."

She slapped his chest, and that silenced him until they got to the garage. He warned her about his car's idiosyncrasies, but she waved him off. No car had more quirks than Steven's, and she handled it just fine.

Michael's red MG Midget gave her no trouble. It drove smoothly under her deft control, but she could've used some help navigating. Michael had unfolded her map and put it over himself as a blanket. Then he promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat.

A few wrong turns cost them a half-hour, but they arrived in Chicago. Her new boss had offered to put her up in a motel while she found her footing. She'd accepted, and while the Travel Inn had no luxuries, it was located in a decent neighborhood—and close to the TV station, too.

Michael carried her bags to the concierge building. She expected him to leave, but he waited around while she checked in. He also carried her bags to building "A" and to her room.

"Aren't you supposed to be at Brooke's by now?" Jackie said.

Michael was busy putting one of her suitcases on the suitcase rack. He didn't look at her and said, "Nah. I got twenty minutes to get there."

"You should get going."

"Look, Jackie..." he peered up at her and grasped her hand, "I know it's scary movin' to a new city all by yourself—"

"I'm fine," she said but clutched his hand to her stomach. Once hewas gone, she'd be truly alone.

"I'm gonna come back here after I see Betsy, okay? The concierge gave me a key to your room."

"He did? Why the hell did he do that?"

Michael grinned. "'Cause I asked him to when you weren't payin' attention. Told him I was your boyfriend."

"Michael!" She thrust his hand away, but she was grinning, too. "Okay, you can come back."

"Awesome." He picked up a pen from the room's desk and wrote something down on the matching pad of paper. "Here's Brooke's number. I'll tell her about you. I'm sure she'll show you around Chicago and stuff. And if you French her out of gratitude, get someone to take a picture."

Jackie sighed, but she also took the number. "Thank you. Now get going."

"Are you sure you'll be okay—"

"I'm _fine,_ " she repeated, but her eyes stung, and her face was growing flush. Michael needed to leave. "If you're late for your visit with Betsy," she said, "Brooke won't think of you when she breaks up with her doctor-boyfriend. Because you know it's inevitable. Relationships just don't work."

"Oh, man... I could totally be her rebound!" He raised his arms in victory, "Hot rebound sex. I can't miss out on that!" and rushed to the door, but he stopped short of leaving. "Call me if you're—"

"Go!"

Michael finally listened and left. He shut the front door, and Jackie dashed to the bathroom. She inhaled shaky breaths and tried to calm herself. If only she could shed her skin as easily as she shed tears, but her legs gave out. She crumpled to the cold tile floor and burst into crying loud enough to echo off the walls.


	6. Consolation Double

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 6  
 **CONSOLATION DOUBLE**  


Shade loped up to Hyde when he entered the Burkharts' foyer. Hyde reached down to pet his fuzzy cheek and received a _"Mrow!"_ in return.

"Yeah, I can't believe she left, either," Hyde said. He stepped forward, but Shade rubbed his side against Hyde's denim clad legs. Walking would be dangerous with Shade blocking his way. "I got ya, Cat. I got ya." He picked Shade up and draped him over his shoulder. "No worries, man."

Shade began to purr, but the rumble gave Hyde little comfort. He scratched the top of Shade's head and moved deeper into the house. Sunlight brightened the living room, but Jackie's absence made the place seem like a guitar with no strings. She'd left Shade's carrier, a huge bag of litter, and various other cat supplies by the coffee table. Hyde scanned them quietly, hoping she'd left him another note, something with less finality than her first.

She hadn't.

Remnants of her last actions in the house, however,—of her _presence_ —were evident in the rumple of the litter bag, in the cat carrier's door not being properly shut.

Bringing Shade near the carrier would make him scramble for escape, and Hyde sympathized. The thing was a cage, and it usually meant something unpleasant was about to happen, like a vet visit or a change in living quarters. The cat really did take after his old man, but Hyde's own scrambling had cost them both dearly.

"I screwed up, Cat," he said. "I'm sorry." His contrition was sincere, but he let out a laugh. Never in his life did he think he'd be apologizing to an animal, but Shade was more than a cat. He was family. "You're not gonna like the next twenty minutes or so," Hyde said and stroked Shade's back, "but they gotta be done."

Jackie had a trick to get Shade into the carrier. She shut him in the bathroom then brought the carrier inside. Shade had no place to flee, and though he still fought for his freedom, his imprisonment was inevitable.

Hyde used the same trick now. Inside the bathroom, he locked Shade securely in the carrier, and Shade began to howl. The cries were deep, guttural sounds, unlike anything he ever emoted, and they startled Hyde into urgency. He raced to the Burkharts' gravel driveway with Shade's supplies, dumped them into the Camino's flatbed, and put the yowling Shade into the car.

"We're goin', we're goin'," Hyde said and pressed on the gas. The Camino sped from the Burkharts' property, but Hyde made sure to keep the ride smooth. Shade's carrier was on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

They arrived at the Pinciottis' in good time. Donna had been expecting them. She helped Hyde unload Shade's things from the Camino, and they brought them inside her house together. Her own cat, Mr. Twinkle Toes, was shut in her room for now. Shade needed time to get reacquainted with his former home, without the added stress of being hissed at.

"Nothing's changed," Donna said to Shade as he sniffed around the living room. "You should be smelling the same smells—Mr. Twinkle Toes and my dad's cologne."

Hyde chuckled softly. Once Shade was fed, and his toys were scattered all over the place, he'd probably be fine. Jackie had left one of her pajama tops in the bag of cat supplies. It was to keep her scent with him. Hyde almost swiped it for himself, but Shade would make better use of it.

Shade's body was pressed low to the ground as he explored the house. He walked a few feet then paused at something to sniff. He wandered to the kitchen that way, and Hyde grabbed Shade's food and water bowls.

"Yeah, putting food out for him is a good idea," Donna said. She took a can of his grub and went with Hyde to the kitchen. On the floor by the fridge was an empty paper shopping bag. She shook her head, "Dad," and moved to pick it up. Bob must have bought a few things from the Piggly Wiggly and skipped out.

"Leave it," Hyde said. "Shade digs 'em." Then he squeezed Donna's shoulder. "Thanks, man... for everything." He was relieved she'd taken Shade in. If she hadn't, Hyde would've smuggled the cat back to the Formans', but that was not a situation he wanted to repeat.

"It's no problem." She opened the can of cat food as Hyde filled the water bowl. "I'm not looking forward to separating the cats during feedings again, but I'll deal." She put Shade's food bowl down in its former spot, and Hyde placed the water bowl beside it. "Mr. Twinkle Toes would never admit it," she said, "but he missed having Shade around... So," she leaned back against the kitchen counter, and her gaze landed squarely on Hyde, "what were you going to say?

"About what?

" _To_ Jackie"

"About what?" Hyde repeated. He was watching Shade now. The cat had cautiously approached his food bowl and took a few nibbles.

Donna hit Hyde's arm. "About marrying her, you dink."

"Nothin'." He glanced up at her. "What hotel is she staying in?"

"Why do you need to know that?"

"In case Shade gets sick. She'd wanna know. What's her hotel?"

"Motel,and I promised her I wouldn't tell you." Donna bent down and petted Shade's back. Shade's tail perked up, but he trotted off to another area of the kitchen. "Shade'll be fine, and if he isn't, I'll let Jackie know."

"Donna, Forman's going off to Africa," Hyde said. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if that would conceal the truth behind his next words. "It's a big continent. If I knew what country he was teaching in—and you didn't— would you want me to tell you?"

"Well, yeah, but Eric and I are together..." Her lips quirked into a smile. "Oh, my God—you were gonna say yes! You were gonna marry her."

He uncrossed his arms. "Maybe I was..." The cat was freakin' out of the bag now, literally. Shade had crawled into the paper bag by the fridge, but he darted out again. Something must have spooked him, and he scurried to the living room. He had an easy escape route, unlike Hyde. A small pet door cut was cut into the kitchen's front door. "So, the motel?

"The Travel Inn," Donna said.

"Thanks." Hyde went to the kitchen's back door. "Take care of Shade while I'm gone."

"You're going to Chicago?"

"Jackie doesn't know all the info, man. She jumped the gun—just like I did once. She's earned a pass, but she's also got a few choices she hasn't heard of yet."

Donna's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

"Later. Gotta hit the road."

He exited out to the Pinciottis' backyard. The Camino was still parked in their driveway, but he headed to the Formans' house and down to the basement. In his room, he packed his green duffel bag with essentials. Then he wrote the Formans a note telling them where he was off to.

He also wrote Forman a separate note, in case he missed Forman's send-off to Africa. He didn't _want_ to miss it, but Jackie was right. The path to his future lay before him, and it was crumbling. He had to chase his future down before the road disintegrated beneath his feet.

He had to get to her.

* * *

Jackie had been crying in the motel bathroom for hours. The tiled floor was covered in crumpled toilet paper, and her eyes burned from spilling so many tears. She should have waited until noon. Steven was always a little slow when it came to their relationship. Maybe he would've shown up at her house at 11:59 a.m. Maybe he would've told her the answer she'd wanted to hear—that he fully intended to marry her someday.

Then again, he'd already given her an answer months ago. He'd shrugged at her first plea about their future. Had he shown up before noon today, he would have said goodbye.

That terrible thought heaved fresh sobs from her body. He was gone from her life, might as well have been dead. Her chest was an aching cavern only he could fill.

"Jackie," Michael shouted, "please get outta the bathroom!" He was on the other side of the door and pounding on it. He'd been pleading with her for the last five minutes. "I gotta pee!"

She pushed herself off the floor. It was a mess of snotty toilet paper and tears, and she longed to mash Steven's face into it, to make him feel what she was feeling. But she flung the door open, and Michael took a step back. He seemed shocked at the state of her face. It had to be red, puffy, and moist.

"You're really that upset over Hyde?" He shook his head. "Man, you keep picking the wrong guys to force into a proposal."

"Shut up, Michael!" she shouted but hurled herself into his arms. She buried her heated, weeping face into his chest. "Just... be quiet."

Michael's hands hesitated before sliding over her back. "I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "Maybe the third time, it'll be the right guy you force into a proposal."

She gripped his shirt, "I said shut up!" but he was rubbing her back now. He had to mean well in his idiot way. "Steven and I," she said into his chest, "we were a family. I saw it in his eyes, Michael. _He felt the same way!_ So why—why did he do this? Why didn't he beg me not to leave?"

"I don't know..." Michael's hands grew still on her back, "but I do know this: doin' it always clears my head."

Her tears turned to ice on her cheek, and her sobs froze in place. "You're right." She pulled away from his arms. "Steven and I are finished, " she said and glanced back at the bed. "I have to get over him, or I won't be able to function tomorrow. I'll lose everything."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. All I have left is that job. I need to clear my head of all Steven-thoughts, clear my heart of all Steven-feelings. And you're perfect."

"I am?" Michael flinched, as if her words had surprised him. "I mean, yeah. I am..." He paused a moment. His eyes narrowed, and his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth. "For what?"

"For doing it, you imbecile!"

"Oh! We're gonna do it?"

"After you brush your teeth and take a shower..." She rushed to the window and pushed aside the curtains. They were too sheer for her liking. "And make sure no one can _see_ us doing it from the parking lot. I don't need any Fez-like pervs watching."

He pumped his fists in the air. "All right!" Then he dashed into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jackie's heart jackhammered against her ribs. She had to relax. She opened one of her suitcases and removed her nightgown and a _Cosmo_ magazine. They were just what she needed. She put on the gown, and its gentle silk soothed her skin. The magazine would distract her thoughts, too, once she let it.

She lay stomach-side down on the bed. Her fingers flipped through the _Cosmo,_ but her eyes didn't register any of the ads or articles. She half-expected Shade to jump onto the bed with his foam ball. She'd brought one of them with her. Photographs were wonderful, but sometimes a tactile reminder was necessary, something she could squeeze in her hand.

Like the shirt Steven had given her.

She'd left it back home. _No,_ not home; the house she'd grown up in. Steven's shirt, with his scent and her memories of him, was balled up in her closet. She couldn't bear to touch it while she packed.

This was the start of a new life for herself. Too bad _Cosmo_ didn't have any articles on that. She hadn't made love to anyone but Steven in over two years. Michael was far from a stranger. They'd lost their virginity to each other, but how would her body respond to him now? Would he feel alien to her? Probably.

And that was good. Maybe it would make her feel like less herself—because she needed to be as distant from herself as possible, in order to rebuild herself anew.

* * *

Hyde had reached the Travel Inn without a hitch. The sun was going down, but its golden light couldn't disguise the motel's dingy atmosphere. The concierge building smelled musty like mold. Paint was chipping off the wall, and one pair of curtains was blotched brown. Someone had spat up on it, either a Pudding Pop or blood. Jackie shouldn't have been staying in a dump like this.

On the other hand, dumps like this often came with overworked, underpaid staff. Twenty dollars to the concierge got him Jackie's building and room number.

Outside, Hyde walked along the paved street to building "A". He knocked on the door to room 108, and it creaked opened by itself. Jackie _really_ shouldn't have been staying in a dump like this. Not alone, at least, and he went inside her room.

A smile crept onto his face at the sight that met him. Jackie was on the bed in her nightgown, and her eyes were focused on a magazine. She didn't react at his entrance. She must've been absorbed in an article about lipstick or some crap like that. He didn't want to scare her, so he said a soft, "Hey."

She peered up at him, and her mouth fell open. Then she pushed herself off the bed as if it were made of nails. "Steven! What, um..." she pulled the nightgown over her cleavage, and he was tempted to slap her hand away, "what are you doing here?"

"Nothin'. Had some free time." His smile didn't vanish, despite her caginess. "Thought I'd check out Chicago. You check-in okay?

"Yeah... Hey, do you want to go take a walk?" Finally, she smiled back, and she pointed to the door. "Maybe get something to eat?"

He began to answer, but another voice spoke first: "Jackie, I checked." _Kelso._ Hyde angled his head toward the door. Kelso was halfway inside the room. A white towel covered his privates, but he was otherwise naked, and his hands held a bucket of ice. "No one can see us doing it from the parking lo—Hyde?" He tossed the bucket into the air, and ice cubes rained down on Hyde and Jackie's skulls.

Hyde couldn't process what he was seeing. Only one word came to mind: betrayal.

"You're dead!" he shouted. His arm shot out, and he grasped Kelso's towel, but Kelso took off. He was fully naked now and bolting across the parking lot. Hyde considered pursuing him but stayed put. "So," he whipped the towel to the floor and turned toward Jackie, "this is why you skipped out before I could give you an answer."

"No, Steven. Listen—"

"You and Kelso, man. You've been screwing each other this whole time, behind my back."

"Steven, no!" She reached for his hand. "How can you say that?"

He pulled away from her, "Have a nice life, Jackie," and went to the door. It was still open, and he stepped outside. The horizon was bathed in red, like his mind. The sun was almost gone, but Jackie barreled in front of him.

"You can't leave like this!" She grabbed onto his arm, and he became like stone. His muscles refused to move, and he barely breathed. "You can't leave thinking I—"

"Let. Go," he said through gritted teeth.

A strange sound eked from her throat, but she released him.

Control of his body returned to him. He crossed to the parking lot and didn't look back. With luck, he'd never see her damn face again.

* * *

Jackie was finally moving into an apartment.

Two weeks of staying at the Travel Inn had been too long. The bed sheets were clean but itchy. The staff was efficient but cranky. And the old-fashioned décor was drab, drab, drab. Her new apartment wasn't much bigger than the motel room, but it had plenty of windows. It was also a quick bus ride from her job.

Renting her own place made her feel accomplished, like she was progressing. Her career seemed to be on the right track, too. She was on the creative development team for _Wake up, Chicago!_ a locally-produced but state-wide morning show. Her tasks mainly included behind the scenes stuff. But her boss said if she kept popping ideas out the way she had, she'd get her first on-air segment in a month or two—a promise for the future. How hard was that to offer?

Today's weather cooperated with her plans. She was standing outside her apartment building, waiting for Donna and Bob to arrive. The sun shone down through a clear Chicago sky, and the autumn temperature was on the milder side. A few breezes chilled her now and then, but her anticipation warmed her up.

Donna and Bob were ten minutes late. Her heart rose into her throat every time she thought a moving van was rounding the corner. But, at last, a white U-Haul parked in front of her awning. She clapped when Donna and Bob exited the van, and she ran up to them on the curb.

She intended to hug them, but Donna thrust a list into Jackie's hands. "Look at all the check marks," Donna said. "We managed to find everything."

The list consisted of five pieces of paper stapled together, and Jackie gave it a cursory glance. Written down were the things she'd told Donna to bring from the Burkhart Mansion. They were mostly clothing and some personal items, but she rolled the list up and stuffed it into the waistband of her jeans.

"Where's Shade?" She peered through the van's driver-side window. "Where's my kitty?"

Donna pressed her lips into a thin line and looked at Bob.

"Oh, God," Jackie said. "Did something happen to him?

"No, the little fella's fine," Bob said and smoothed a hand over his tacky floral shirt. "He's just... not here."

"Not here?" She shook her head, not quite understanding. "Where is he? He wouldn't go in the carrier? I told you, you have to hold the carrier vertically and dump him in before—"

"Jackie," Donna said, "Hyde took him."

"What?"

"Hyde moved out of the Formans' last week. He found an apartment in Kenosha."

"Kenosha?" Jackie's breath caught, same as her thoughts. They were skipping like a scratched-up record. "M—moved out? Kenosha?" She never expected Steven to leave the Formans'. In her foolish mind, he'd be living there forever. "Kenosha?" she said once again.

Donna nodded. "Yeah, and he brought Shade with him. He said, um... He said if you wanted Shade, you'd have to come and get him."

Jackie's fists clenched. Her whole body was shaking, and she said, "THAT BASTARD!" though it was more of an ear-splitting shriek. "Shade is _my_ cat. _My cat!_ Steven can't... He can't just take him!"

"Well, Shade's sorta your joint cat, isn't he?" Bob said and stepped back toward the van. He seemed afraid of Jackie's fury, but he wasn't the man she wanted to eviscerate. "I remember you and Hyde both fawnin' over him like doting parents."

"No," Jackie said. "Steven gave Shade to me. He can't have him. He—"

"You think Hyde's gonna hurt the little guy?" Bob said.

"Of course not. Steven loves him." Jackie went to the U-Haul's back doors. She tried to open them, but they were locked. "Would someone open this damn van?"

Bob used his key and unlocked the doors. Jackie's things had been packed in boxes, and she and Donna hefted them into her apartment building. The task would've gone faster had Bob helped, but he stayed by the van to guard it and her other boxes.

Jackie's building was a walk-up, and the first climb to her apartment left her breathless and Donna complaining. "Do you have to live on the fourth floor?" Donna said.

"Yes. Let's get more stuff."

"Why don't you show me your apartment first?"

"Later."

Jackie tugged Donna back toward the staircase. They could rest when all her things were where they were supposed to be. Another two trips to the van was all it took. Bob drove off afterward to find an appropriate parking spot.

Jackie and Donna were both spent. They sat in Jackie's apartment, on her daybed currently done up as a couch. Their breaths heaved out of them, and neither spoke while they recovered from their efforts.

Jackie glowered at the state of her new home. Boxes covered almost all of the floor's free space. She was renting a one-room studio, all she could afford at the moment. The choice had been between more space in a bad neighborhood or this. It was cramped, and it was going to be worse with all her clothing here. Her closet consisted of a gutted bookshelf with a metal bar stretched across it.

"Maybe it's best Hyde took Shade," Donna said after a minute. "Jackie, your apartment is tiny."

"And Steven's isn't?

Donna shrugged, "He's got two bedrooms." Jackie stared at her incredulously, prompting Donna to say, "W.B.'s helping him out with rent."

"Steven accepted money from his dad?" Jackie slid a hand beneath her thigh and squeezed the skin through her jeans. Climbing up and down the stairs had expended some of her anger, but every new piece of information about Steven refueled it. She refused to let it loose, though, so she pinched herself until the pain distracted her.

"He told me he 'did it for the cat,'" Donna said, laughing. "Shade's like you, apparently. Used to a big place to roam. How're you gonna stand living here?"

"I'll stand it. And I guess I'll stand living without Shade... _for now._

Jackie maneuvered around some boxes to her bedroom area. She pulled a small notebook from her dresser. Then she wrote Steven a letter in a rush.

Donna pointed to what Jackie was doing. "What's that?"

"For Steven," Jackie said. She folded up the letter and passed it to Donna. "Give that to him when you get back—and make sure he reads it."

"All right." Donna took the letter and stuffed it into her pants pocket.

Jackie bent down to open a box, "You can help me unpack some of these things, too, like getting the scissors from the kitchen," but she bit her knuckle as an unwanted memory hit her.

_"You ever hear of using the word 'please'? 'Thank you' is another good one."_

Steven had said that to her years ago, about her former maid and cook. She was disgusted his voice rose in her mind, that it was acting as her conscience, but she met Donna in the kitchen area.

"Which drawer?" Donna said.

"The middle one," Jackie said and laid a hand on Donna's wrist. "Thank you. You've been a really good friend, and I'm..." she rolled her eyes at herself, "I'm sorry for being bitchier than usual. I'm still getting used to all of this, to all of these changes. And now Steven's holding my cat hostage, and..."

"It's okay. I get it." Donna squeezed Jackie's shoulder tenderly. Then she found the scissors and held them up. "Let's take some of that bitchiness out on those boxes though."

"Sure," Jackie said but let Donna slice the duct tape off the boxes. She couldn't risk accidentally injuring herself. It might affect her work, and Steven had already deprived her of one future. She wouldn't let her rage at him deprive her of another.

* * *

Hyde leaned back on his couch and stretched his legs out on the coffee table. His living room was far bigger than he deserved, but he had to admit having his own place felt good. Damn good. He could treat his furniture however the hell he wanted. Be as messy as he wanted... _almost_ as he wanted. He still had to think of the cat. At over two-years-old, Shade still acted like a kitten. Anything not nailed down became a toy, so Hyde usually cleaned up after himself, except at night when he partied a little too much...

Though did a party of one count as a party?

Forman was gone, off in Africa to earn his college tuition. Kelso had become an enemy, someone Hyde avoided seeing to keep from killing. Fez didn't like getting as drunk as Hyde did, so he always wussed out early, and Donna was usually too busy studying to join Hyde at the bars.

Hyde knew what he was doing—self-medicating, narcotizing himself against pain he hadn't been able to process yet. But he'd made a promise today, to his sister of all people, that he wouldn't booze it up anymore or smoke himself into oblivion. In the two weeks since Chicago, he'd found himself relying on her more than usual. On W.B., too. They were family, just like the Formans were. But the Formans reminded him too much of everything he'd lost.

"Hey, Ange," he said, "quit hoggin' the popcorn."

She answered with a succession of sneezes: " _Ah-choo! Ah-choo!_ _Ahhh_ - _CHOO!_ " She was sitting beside him on the couch, having come over to watch baseball. She'd ignored her cat allergy to hang out with him, and he more than appreciated it. Being alone was the worst part of living alone, especially when his thoughts were so freakin' knotted. But company also meant he had to share things, like popcorn.

"That's nine, ten, and eleven," he said about her sneezes.

"Whose fault is that?" She passed him the bowl, but he handed it back to her. She'd sneezed into it, and that was one special sauce he wouldn't eat. "I'm going to have to get shots because of that furball."

"Hey, I vacuumed before you got here. Place is as cat-hair free as I can make it."

She grabbed a few tissues and blew her nose. "Well, it _is_ better than the last time. Thanks."

Hyde got up at the next commercial break, intending to make more popcorn. Shade was nearby, stretched out on the carpet and lounging. Hyde caught his eye on the way to the kitchen. Shade's tail swished, but his calm breathing erupted into purring.

"How did you do that?" Angie said.

"Do what?

"Make him purr just by looking at him?"

Hyde shrugged. "It's his nature, man. He's Zen."

"You keep him dosed on catnip, don't you?" Angie was laughing, but her laughter turned into another round of sneezing.

"Want me to put him into my room?" He'd reached the kitchen. It was open to the living room, and he liked that he could see the TV while cooking. "Shade settles easily in there," he said and placed another pan of Jiffy Pop on the stove.

"No, it's fine," she said. "But if you insist on letting him sit on your lap, do it over there." She pointed to the armchair beside the couch. "I can't have his fur flying in my face while you pet him."

Hyde smirked and concentrated on the Jiffy Pop; its foil was inflating like his discomfort. Angie had witnessed his affection toward Shade last week, during her first time at the apartment. The cat was freaked by his new surroundings, and Hyde's voice had softened to a cloying level. The memory of it still embarrassed him. He'd been trying to soothe Shade, but Angie imitated him until something in his eyes seemed to shut her up.

He took out a large bowl now from a cabinet but a shrill buzz vibrated through the apartment. The popcorn wasn't fully popped, and Shade jumped to his feet. He didn't like the apartment's buzzer system. Neither did Hyde. It was loud enough to wake drunks from their slumber.

"Angie," he said, "could ya get that?" and she stood up without complaint.

She went to the front door and pressed the buzzer's intercom button. Donna's voice came through the tinny speaker, "It's Donna," and Angie buzzed her in. She unlatched the front door at Hyde's request then sneezed.

"Thanks," Hyde said, "and bless you." His tone was gentle, but he hated saying that last part. The practice stemmed from an outdated superstition, but Jackie had made him betray his principles. She claimed sneezing was an involuntary, traumatizing bodily function, and...

 _"People need comfort afterward, Steven_ , _"_ she'd said. _"Imagine what it would feel like to sneeze and have no one around who cared enough to say 'God bless you'? It's a simple thing, isn't it? A simple act to make someone feel less alone."_

Her logic had reached him, or maybe it was her compassion. Either way, he'd adopted the habit of saying "Bless you" because of her. He didn't always say it, but when he did, that was Jackie on his tongue.

Angie sat down on the couch again and shouted something at Bill Travers, the Milwaukee Brewers' pitcher. Hyde's focus, though, was on the popcorn. It was ready. He cut open the Jiffy Pop's foil and dumped the popcorn into the bowl.

The front door opened shortly afterward, and Donna entered. She was carrying a six pack of Amber Ale. Hyde was tempted to rush over and guzzle two or three cans down, but his promise to Angie stopped him. He never made commitments he didn't plan to keep.

"Hey," he said and met Donna with the bowl of popcorn. The popcorn was hot, just how he liked it, and he stuffed a fistful into his mouth.

"Hey. Sorry, I'm late. Traffic." She passed the beer into Hyde's free hand. A cold one would've gone well with the popcorn, but he backtracked to the kitchen and dumped the six-pack onto the counter.

"Brewers are up by two," Angie said from the couch.

"Yeah, I know," Donna said." I listened to the game in the car." She took off her coat and slung it over Hyde's coat rack. "Travers's pitching has been hit or miss all season—no pun intended."

She headed for the couch but made a pit stop at Shade. He was lying on the carpet again. He sniffed her hand and seemed to recognize her. She scratched beneath his chin, causing his orange-ringed eyes shut, and his purr became loud enough that Hyde heard it in the kitchen.

"Jackie's not happy," Donna said, and Hyde wished he hadn't been able to hear _that._

He brought the popcorn to the coffee table and half-slammed it down. "Too bad. Cat's better off over here."

"You won't hear an argument from me." Donna clapped the cat hair from her hands. "Jackie's living in a shoebox.

"Good for her. She likes shoes."

"You're still pissed at her, huh?"

"Nope." Hyde returned to his spot on the couch. He laced his fingers behind his head and gave all his attention to the game. The less he heard about Jackie, the better.

Donna sat in the armchair a few moments later. She had a Coke in her hand, not a beer. She'd driven to Kenosha, so skipping booze was a smart idea. The beer must've been a thank-you-for-hosting gift.

"Can you pass me the popcorn?" she said. Hyde handed her the bowl, and she slipped a folded piece of paper into his palm.

"What's this?" he said.

"Jackie wrote you a note—or something. I'm not really sure."

"Huh." Hyde tossed the note over his shoulder. It landed on the floor behind the couch, and Shade dashed after it.

"Hyde!" Donna said. "What if she wrote something important?"

"She's got nothin' I wanna hear."

"Technically," Angie said, "she has nothing you want to _read._ "

Hyde shifted his weight on the couch. "Whatever."

Shade was batting the folded paper through the living room. It skittered on the hardwood floor, but he eventually pounced on it. He gnawed on the paper and kicked at it with his hind legs. Then he trotted off with his shredded prize in his mouth.

Donna jerked her thumb toward Hyde's bedroom. "Should Shade be eating paper like that?"

"He only eats flakes. The rest he'll just play with."

"Jeez." Donna groaned and put down the bowl of popcorn. She rushed into Hyde's room but reappeared a minute later. "The note's in your nightstand—for when you grow a pair and want to read it."

"Hey, give him a break," Angie said. "Think about how you'd— _ah-choo!_ —you'd feel if you found Eric about to cheat on y—"

Hyde scowled. "Angie, shut it, okay?"

"But she has no idea how hard this has been on—"

"Nothing's been hard on me. Now shut your piehole and enjoy the damn game."

"Right." Angie copied his body language. She laced her fingers behind her head, and her face even took on his scowl. They might not have had the same skin tone, but they were definitely related. He saw more of himself in her each successive time they spent together. One thing they didn't have in common, though: he knew when to keep his trap zipped. She had no clue, and she said, "Just like you haven't been drinking every night to fall asleep."

Donna leaned forward in the armchair and slapped Hyde's knee. "You've what?"

He blew out an audible breath. Enjoying the game was going to be impossible now. "Screw this." He left the couch. "I'm gonna read Jackie's freakin' note—or whatever it is—and then you two are gonna forget she exists while you're around me. Got it? Otherwise, you can watch the rest of the game in a TV-store window."

"Got— _ah-choo!_ —it," Angie said, but Donna only sighed.

Hyde stalked off to his room and shut the door. He pulled Jackie's note out of the nightstand drawer. Then he unfolded it—and discovered this was no note. It was a letter, and though Shade had disappeared to another room, his presence was still felt. He'd done a number on Jackie's writing. The letter was full of bite holes, but Hyde could make out most of it.

_Steven,_

_I'm letting you have custody of Shade for now. Donna tells me you have a nice apartment, but the second I move into an appropriate place for him, Shade's living wi_ [hole] _e. So don't you dare let anything happen to him before I can do that._

 _My new n_ [hole] _is (312) 555-9414. Call me if Shade gets sick. I don't care if it's a claw cut too close to the quick. I want to know._

 _No matter what you believe, I did not_ _sleep with Michael while you and I were together. I'm not_ [hole] _ith him. I was in love with_ _you,_ _and only you. In the motel, what you walked in on was me trying to cope. What did_ _you_ _do last year when you thought I'd broken your heart? You're smart enough to put_ [hole] _gether._

 _We'll never be friends again, Steven. I know that. But I_ _would like for us to be civil to each other on Shade's behalf. He's giv_ [hole] _th of us so much, and he deserves the same. He should have the best life possible for a cat to have._

_—Jackie_

Hyde took no time to think over her words. Thinking had become dangerous for him, and he retrieved his little gray address book. It was stashed in the nightstand, and he scribbled Jackie's number under "B" for "Burkhart," "Beulah," and "bitchy".

He'd been trying to forget her these last few weeks, to drink her out of his mind and heart. But as long as Shade lived, Hyde and Jackie would be connected. The price was tough to pay but worth it—because she was right. The cat gave him a lot. Shade comforted him on the loneliest nights when Hyde saw, with a painful clarity, the gored out piece of his future. It was where his family once belonged...

His family with Jackie.


	7. Circled Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 7  
 **CIRCLED GAME**  


_Chicago_

_Two Years Later_

**...**

"Bein' so close by to Shade is nice," Steven told Jackie over coffee, "and Chicago ain't that bad, either."

They'd met at a café shortly after his move to the city. His fingers curled around his cup in a way she shouldn't have noticed, but she'd stared at his hands a lot over the years, especially as they coaxed their cat into a purring ball of bliss. His hands were both masculine and gentle, just like Steven himself. But she shouldn't have been thinking about that...

Or about him.

After two years of working mostly behind the camera on _Wake up, Chicago!_ she'd become an anchor for the show's third hour. Not only did she get to create segments, but she also got to present them on air. Fashion trends, hair, and makeup were her primary topics, though she also interviewed experts on relationships and money. And her presence on-air had increased the show's ratings in the 18-34 demographic, not just women but men, too.

They were attracted to her "youth, beauty, and intelligence," her producer, John, claimed. Those were also the three attributes that had attracted John to her. He was thirty-one but still looked like he was in his early twenties. He always wore a neatly trimmed beard, which she hated, but he needed it to "project authority" over his staff. So she dealt with the rug-burn on her chin whenever they kissed.

"No more hour-and-a-half drives to see him," Steven said and took a swallow of his coffee. It left a liquid mustache above his upper lip, but he didn't use his tongue to lick it off. He'd never been one to do that. Instead, the back of his hand wiped the coffee from his face. Then he rubbed the coffee residue from his hand onto his jeans, and she watched with too much interest. Some things in life were easily transferred from one thing to another—like coffee from a cup to an upper lip—but love, passionate love, could not be so effortlessly switched over.

Her year-long relationship with John had been filled with spontaneous trips to Europe, ever-strengthening commitment from him, and promotions. Co-workers believed she'd slept her way to the top, and maybe she had. But so what? She had the talent and drive to justify her quick advancement. And a few months ago, around the time of her upgrade to anchor, she and John had upgraded their personal situation, as well.

She'd moved into his giant house in Northbrook, Illinois. Chicago was only a half-hour away by car, and despite her lofty ambition, she preferred living in a suburban village. It was what she'd grown up with, what she was used to. A big city could make a person feel anonymous, but in Northbrook—as in Point Place—the locals became part of an extended family.

That was what she told herself, at least.

Steven put his coffee cup down on the table. His fingers laced over the cup's front with their unchewed nails and smooth cuticles. He never let his nails get too long. They were just the right length, long enough to scratch Shade's cheeks; but they didn't extend over his fingertips like those smelly folk guitarists who played in "L" stations.

"Jackie," he said and drew her focus to his face. His sunglasses couldn't hide the crinkle of his eyes. He was smiling, not a big smile, but its warmth surprised her. "Bein' close to you is nice, too."

Her breath caught. Through a year's worth of terse and tense relations, she and Steven had eventually become friends again. At the start, they related to each other only through the cat. But his anger at her seemed to have completely burned off.

She'd felt no unhappiness when he announced his Chicago move. More accurately, he'd moved to a suburban village called Glenview. It was fifteen minutes from Jackie's own village of Northbrook, and the coincidence still astounded her. W.B. had given Steven and Angie joint ownership of the entire chain of Grooves. Angie dealt with the money side of things while Steven handled the creative—and along the way, he'd decided to run the flagship store in Chicago.

_"Bein' close to you is nice, too."_

Jackie wasn't breathing. She should have been, for more than one reason. Firstly, her romantic feelings were safely ensconced with John. He was an attentive lover, despite his annoying, unshaveable beard. Secondly, Steven followed up his statement with, "It's good knowing someone out here, man. Starting fresh in a freakin' city is tough enough, even harder when you're alone."

She sucked in some shaky air and said, "You don't have to tell me." Chicago's skyscrapers still intimidated her, and its noisy streets drove her a little batty at night. But with Brooke's support, she'd transitioned to city life without much trouble. "I'm an excellent tour guide, though."

"I bet you are." Laughter was in his voice, slight but present. "Seen you on your show. You dissected Water Tower Place so even a rube like me could navigate through it—not that I'm plannin' to. A hundred shops is a hundred too many."

"You saw that?" A grin burst on her face. She'd come up with the segment by herself, back when she was a part-time reporter for the show. She'd figured out the best route through all eight levels of the mall, and John had given her free rein on the shoot.

"Yeah," Steven said, "I watched your show when I was scoping out places to live."

Her grin faded, and her breath caught again, but she made herself speak. "But that segment aired five months ago."

"So?"

"So it means..." She lowered her gaze back to his fingers. Only half of them were holding his coffee cup now, and he raised the cup to his mouth. "It means, why did it take you so long to actually move?"

He shrugged. "Hadn't found the right neighborhood."

"Mm-hmm," she said and sipped at her own coffee. The cup had been clutched in her hand, forgotten, and the coffee had become colder than she liked—just like Steven's truth was more deceptive than she liked. He wasn't lying to her, per se, but he also wasn't saying everything. She knew him too well, understood his tells. His aloofness was habitually natural, but today it had the hint of force.

She wouldn't press him, though. Whatever he was keeping to himself was his business. And his business hadn't been her business in a long time. A year-and-a-half ago, she'd gotten a raise big enough to move into a one-bedroom apartment. Steven drove up to Chicago with Shade and returned him—with the old caveat of unlimited visitation rights.

She'd agreed for the cat's sake. With all the transitions he'd had to undergo, Shade's little heart had been stressed enough in his young life. Her own heart had calcified against Steven's presence. She was too distracted by work, and then by her burgeoning relationship with John, that her past with Steven was just that: the past.

But now, transitioning to life with Steven "so close" promised difficulties. His visitation rights with Shade had already been curtailed. In no scenario did she imagine John being okay with her ex dropping by their house to "see the cat". Better for all of them if she gave Shade up to Steven again, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't let him go.

"I'll have to talk to John," she said, "about you visiting Shade."

Steven slid his palm onto the table. His eyeball ring clinked against the lacquered wood, and his fingers began to drum. "Yeah, you do that... and let me know."

His fingertips were inches away from her coffee cup. She knew intimately how tender they could be, but they didn't fit into her present. Didn't belong. She finally had everything she wanted, her dream career, a dream man. Her perfect life should have felt complete, but it felt perfectly and inexplicably not whole.

"I will." She patted the top of Steven's hand. "I'll let you know. Now let me give you that tour."

His thumb reached up and stroked her knuckle. "Sounds good."

* * *

Angie was helping Hyde unpack his things. She'd insisted on staying with him during his first week in Glenview, and he was glad. In spite of himself, she was a good influence on him, and she cared—maybe too much at times, but he'd rather that than the alternative.

"I still can't believe you're doing this," she said. They were in his bedroom, and she'd spread all his clothes on the bed. She was currently rolling up his socks. "I thought your idea of romance was not belching in a woman's face."

He fake-laughed at her. The chicks he loved were always able to cut through his Zen, but Angie's jibes didn't bother him. They made him feel like her brother, something he was still getting used to.

"Ain't nothin' romantic about it," he said and grabbed a stack of folded shirts. They tumbled from his arms into his dresser drawer.

Angie groaned. "Steven! What's the point in me organizing your things if you're just going to mess them up right after?" She rushed to the dresser and pushed him aside. "You're supposed to _place_ your clothes into your drawer, not toss them in like a child." She began to refold his shirts, but then she stopped. "Oh, I know what you're doing..." her eyes narrowed, and she jabbed him in the chest, "and you're not getting away with it."

"It was worth a shot." He returned to the drawer and refolded the shirts himself. His attempt at distraction had failed. Angie would barrage him with questions until he answered at least one truthfully. "She's not happy, man," he said. "All it took was three minutes for me to figure that out."

"So you packed up your life and moved fifteen minutes away from her? She's not your problem anymore—"

He shut the dresser drawer loudly. "What can I say? I love her."

Angie closed her eyes touched her forehead as if she had a headache. "You're a fool."

"Won't hear an argument from me."

He opened his closet. It was mostly full of empty hangers. He wouldn't be changing that too much. The closet was a decent size, big enough for two. His new house was a rental, about as large as the Formans'. He had the option to buy it after a year if he wanted, but for now, he was content to be an impermanent resident.

His decision to move here hadn't been easy, but it had been quick. Three minutes was all he'd needed to make the call. Half a year ago, during a visit to Shade, he'd had the unfortunate instance of meeting Jackie's boyfriend.

"He's too rough with her, Ange," Hyde said and plucked a hanger from the closet. He tried to unbend its wire hook. "Behavior's subtle, but it's there. He squeezed the back of her neck while she and I were talkin'. Grabbed her wrist instead of her hand. If he's like that with his chick, how the hell is he with the cat?"

"Are you sure you're not making too much of it?" Angie had gone back to rolling his socks. "No, let me rephrase that. I _know_ you're making too much of it. You've left everything to—what? Steal your ex back from the man she's living with?"

"First, I haven't left everything. I got you to keep me company—"

"For a week. I don't plan on moving from Milwaukee in the foreseeable future."

"Whatever. Second, I got a kickass job here. I'm part of the scene, man. Lots more underground bands in Chicago than in America's freakin' Dairyland. And third, I don't plan on stealing anyone from anything. I'm keepin' an eye on her and Shade. That's all."

"An eye I'm sure she'll more than appreciate." Angie's tone was drenched in acid, but it didn't faze him.  
The hanger in his hands, however, had become a grade-school art project. It was misshapen and warped, and he put it back in the closet. "What _are_ you doing?" Angie said and dashed to the closet. She snatched out the deformed hanger."Honestly!"

"It's sculptural. A grownup conversation piece."

She glared at him. "You don't even know what any of those words mean."

He knew what every word meant. Not having a college education didn't mean he was a moron, but he felt no need to correct her. She was scared for him, and her fear often transmuted into condescension. It was her go-to place, an emotional shelter, just like his had been to numb himself. She'd watched him do that after he and Jackie were over. And she'd also helped him come out of it.

"Look, Jackie doesn't have to be with me, okay?" he said. The time had come to dive into the line of conversational fire. "She's just gotta stay safe. It's my damn fault she ended up here—"

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is. I was too slow, but John Boy is bad news. If I see one black and blue mark on her—"

"Steven," Angie cupped his shoulder, the way their father often did, "Jackie's not the type to pick someone like that. Have some faith."

"Her track record's crap." He pulled away from her and slumped down on the bed. "She picked Kelso, who cheated on her. Then she picked me—and I hurt her. I really freakin' hurt her."

"Oh, bro..." she sat on the bed with him, "she hurt you, too."

Angie stayed by his side in silence Sometimes that was all he needed, a silent companion, but not tonight.

"She's past me, I get that," he said. "I'm her past, but she's gotta have a future—a happy one."

"What about you?" she said. "What about your future?"

"Forfeit for now."

"And other women?"

"Forfeit."

She slipped her palm over his knee and squeezed. "You idiot. You really do love her."

"Yup."

" _Why?_ There hasn't been anything substantial between you in two years."

"Sure there has." A smile threaded across his lips, and Angie must have noticed because she slapped his thigh.

"No!" she said. "Not—"

"The cat."

"Oh, God. A cat is not enough to keep you in love with someone who cheated on you, Steven!"

"She didn't cheat on me," he said. "She was tryin' to free herself, just like I did with that damn nurse. The way she is with our cat, man—whenever she pets him—it's there."

"What is?" Angie pushed herself from the bed and stood in front of him. She was exasperated, that much was clear. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her foot tapped on the floor. "What's there?"

"Everything, man," he said hoarsely. His throat suddenly felt very thick. A lump had formed. He tried to swallow it down, but how did one swallow two years of regret?

"Everything _what?_ " she said and clutched her own arms. Her nails dug into her skin. "Steven, I don't like vague. Vague makes me break out in hives. Be specific."

He gathered his rolled-up socks before answering. "Everything I want."

* * *

"We'll have him for dinner," John said,. "next week. Invite him over."

"Are you serious?" Jackie sprang for her chair. Her dressing room at the TV studio had no windows, but the sun seemed to be shining through the walls. Her relief and joy had to be influencing her. She'd told John without padding or preparation that Steven moved to Glenview. John didn't flinch or frown. His demeanor remained calm and smooth, and she ran her palm over his bearded cheek. "Thank you, baby."

"Of course." His arms curled around her back, and he drew her to his chest. "It'll be nice for you to have an old friend around."

"Y—yeah." She had trouble breathing as tightly as he was holding her, but his affection was always super-charged. She never had to question how he felt about her, which was a nice change from her relationship norm. "I have to get into makeup for the show," she said, and he let her go, but her mood was so bright that she'd probably glow on camera without translucent powder or blush.

Her hour of _Wake Up, Chicago!_ went by in a flash, as did her various staff meetings and creative sessions. John's private moments with her throughout the day reinforced her earlier glee, but once they got home, doubt crept in.

Because of Shade.

John normally ignored Shade's presence. He wasn't an animal person, and Jackie had interrogated him thoroughly before she moved into his house. Would he be all right with Shade living there? Even at four-years-old, Shade still acted like a kitten. He had a tendency to knock things over. Any delicate knickknacks John was partial to would have to be put in a safe place.

John had answered all her concerns graciously, and he'd placed most of his treasured items on shelves Shade couldn't reach. The only thing John kept in harm's way was his local Daytime Emmy award for Outstanding Talk Show. He was understandably proud of it, and he refused to remove it from the living room.

Jackie warned him repeatedly about the danger. His award was displayed on a bookcase, on a shelf Shade could easily step onto from the neighboring bureau. Fortunately, Shade never seemed interested, and she was thankful relations between her two loves had remained peaceful. Until tonight.

The discord began with a slight shove. Shade often liked to greet John with a curious sniff. John never petted him in return or really touched him. But tonight at the dinner table, Shade trotted up to him and sniffed his ankle. John should have ignored it, but he half-kicked Shade away with his foot.

Jackie said nothing about it. The behavior had to be a fluke. That was what she told herself, at least. John didn't repeat the act when Shade sniffed his hand before bedtime, but during their next evening at home, John did something else he hadn't done before.

Shade wasn't a vocal cat. That Wednesday night, however, his claw got caught on Jackie's afghan. The knitted blanket was draped over the leather sectional sofa. Shade liked to sleep on it, but sometimes he got stuck.

"Jackie," John called from the living room, "take care of your cat."

She rushed out of the kitchen but not in time. Shade was tugging on the afghan and meowed in fear.

"Shut up," John said and swiped his hand in Shade's direction. Cat and man were beside each other on the sofa, and walking around it took some time. "Jackie, do something already. I'm trying to watch the game here."

"I can only move as fast I can move," she said. "This stupid sectional is a monster. Ever think of freeing Shade yourself?"

"Come on, babe. I've been working all day—"

"So have I."

"I don't want that thing to bite me."

She swallowed a groan. Shade had never bitten anyone, not even when he was getting shots at the vet. She'd told John this countless times, but he never seemed to absorb it.

Shade fell to the floor in his attempt to get free. The afghan remained on the sofa, though, and his paw was stretched out above him. Jackie finally reached him after a frantic few seconds, and she unhooked his claw from the afghan's purple yarn.

"It's okay, baby," she said as he bounded away. "You just need a nail-cut." She intended to get the claw scissors, but John grasped her hips and pulled her into his lap. "Hey!"

"Hey, yourself." He pressed a scratchy, bearded kiss into her neck. "Watch the game with me."

"I have to cut Shade's nails."

"Later."

"No, _now._ " She pushed herself off his lap and pointed at him. "And you better think about your attitude."

"What?"

She sighed. "Never mind."

John was tired, a little cranky. She could still dismiss his behavior as a fluke, so she chose not to confront him. But on Thursday, the discord escalated to an intolerable degree.

Shade was curled up on the leather sofa. To rational eyes, he looked like an adorable ball of cream-colored fur. John, though, seemed to see only an invader. Shade just so happened to be sleeping in John's favorite spot, and to Jackie's horror, John yanked Shade up and tossed him to the floor.

Jackie's heart folded in on itself. Shade had purred a split-second before John hurled him down. Actually _purred_ with affection.

"John!" she shouted. She'd never truly fought with him before, but tonight she yelled for a good five minutes. "Don't you _ever_ do that to him again!"

John didn't yell back. Raising his voice wasn't in his nature. He always responded in an even, _aggravatingly_ even, tone. "It's an animal," he said. "He'll get over it. I didn't even drop him from that high—"

"You're over six-feet tall, and you _threw_ him from chest-height."

"Jackie, his DNA is encoded to deal with evading predators. A little fall is nothing."

She glared at him, hoping her anger had translated into her eyes. "So if I drop our future babies from above my head—"

"Shade isn't a baby. It's a damn cat." John cupped her shoulders, and he forcibly turned her toward the dining area, situated at the far end of their living room. Shade had retreated beneath the iron-and-glass dining table and was licking his paws obsessively. That was his self-soothing behavior. "See?" John said. "He's gotten over it already. He's relaxing, giving himself a bath. Maybe you should follow suit." He began to push her toward her bathroom.

"Oh, whatever." She tore his hands from her shoulders. Sometimes, he was too physically controlling, and now Shade had experienced the same thing. "You're so damn grabby," she said and stepped back from him. "It's disrespectful, and I don't like it."

He frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't grab me, and don't grab _my cat._ Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, and he seemed sincere. The next day, he romanced her with kind gestures. He left loving notes at the TV studio. They were hidden in her dressing room and taped to her anchor desk. He also bought Shade a ceramic fountain to drink fresh, streaming water from—and even petted him a little.

Peace had returned to their house, but the following morning, Jackie's nerves sparked into anxious fireworks. Her ex and current boyfriend would have hours together tonight. In the last year, they'd clocked only five minutes of interaction between them, thanks to a scheduling error on her part.

Steven needed to come to the house, though. He hadn't seen Shade in months, not since Jackie moved in with John. Steven's visitation rights had to be reinstated.

He arrived at 7:04 p.m. John shook his hand in the foyer then offered him wine. Steven refused politely and crouched down. Shade was already loping up to him.

"Hey, Cat," Steven said but let Shade make the first move. Shade's tail was high in the air, and he butted his head into Steven's chin. "Miss me?"

"He did," Jackie said.

"Amazing." John was laughing, and he said to Steven, "He hasn't seen you in—what, three months? How the heck does the critter even recognize people? "

"Scent," Jackie and Steven said together, and she giggled. John really wasn't an animal person, but people could change.

The earthy smell of John's cooking permeated the house. He'd prepared pork in a mushroom cream sauce, and the aroma drew everyone to the dining area. Shade followed. He brushed himself against Steven's legs, and Steven picked him up.

"Need some attention?" Steven said, and his tone was so gentle that Jackie's breath hitched. He cradled Shade like an infant to his chest. His fingers scratched Shade's fuzzy cheeks and chin until Shade's eyes closed, and his purrs took over the room.

The sight prompted Jackie to join them. She stroked Shade's side and kissed the top of his head. Then she and Steven engaged in their usual cat-talk while John went to the kitchen.

John's trust in her was heartening. Unlike Steven, he seemed to know an ex-lover was just that, an _ex._ And after a dinner of boring but safe baseball conversation, he extended Steven a generous offer of biweekly visits to see Shade.

Jackie could hardly believe it; Steven would get to come over twice a month. The situation elated her, perhaps, more than it should have. But moving to Chicago two years ago, leaving everything and everyone she knew behind had taken an emotional toll. She was only beginning to realize how much of a toll, to _feel_ it. With Steven fifteen minutes away, though, the two halves of her life—past and present—would stop warring with each other.

That was what she told herself, at least.


	8. Accumulator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 

CHAPTER 8  
 **ACCUMULATOR**

Jackie squeezed Steven's hand before he left the house. The gesture was surreptitious, hidden away from John's eyes. She didn't want him making more of it than it was, although he probably wouldn't have. He'd been nothing but gracious to Steven during dinner, and Jackie rewarded him by making love with him twice that night. She gave it all her effort, but mostly what she felt was a deep sense of gratitude.

She remained in his arms afterward, far longer than she liked. Usually, she'd retreat to her own corner of their king-sized bed, a dark brown monstrosity she abhorred. But at least it wasn't white, black, or gray like the rest of the house.

"We should make double-sex a thing," John said and held her tighter. "We could call it the 'Saturday Night Special'. I'll have Sandra in the contracts department write it up."

She smacked his wrist. "Don't you dare! Do you know how much work it'll be to get all my loopholes in? I mean, what if I want to do it twice on a Wednesday? Or _three_ times on Saturday? Contracts have no place in love-making."

"You think I'm serious?" He was laughing. "I'd never do that."

She laughed with him, more as an apology than from amusement, and the conversation ended there.

John's head eventually lolled against her shoulder in sleep. She could have extricated herself then, but she forced herself to stay put. A disturbing question had risen to her mind: _why didn't she enjoy sleeping in John's arms?_ She had no complaints about his physical prowess, but like everything else in her perfect life, something about his embrace felt incomplete.

She kissed John's dozing, bearded face, and an equally disturbing fact rose to her mind. Steven had squeezed her hand in return before she let him go, and the moment felt impossibly _whole._

"No," she whispered into the dark. She'd had an exhausting day full of nervous anticipation. She couldn't be interpreting things correctly, but her body begged to differ. Disgust was spreading outward from her chest, as if a parasitic wasp had laid eggs in her heart. Those eggs were hatching, and her heart pumped the gnawing, blood-drinking larvae into her veins.

She hugged John's arms closer to her body, but that only increased her self-revulsion. She slipped free of him and the bed, but this feeling wasn't new. Normally, it happened under different circumstances, in combination with other emotions she couldn't untangle.. This time, she had something to work with, something to work out.

Her disgust drove her to the guest room down the hall. John had allowed her to keep Shade's cat tree there, and she found her cat sleeping on the second highest platform. Ambient light from the window allowed her to see his outline. One of his hind legs was dangling over the side, and she petted it. He perked up his head, clearly surprised by the wake-up call, but then he settled into a deep purr.

The sound soothed her mind enough to think properly. "It's not my past he represents," she said to an expectant Shade. He'd turned onto his back for a belly rub. She obliged until he began to wrestle with her hand. "No, we're not doing that, kitty."

A thick rope was attached to the cat tree, to the underside of Shade's platform. She pulled the rope up and put it into Shade's waiting paws. That seemed to satisfy him because he clawed at it and bit it while she petted his back.

"Steven isn't empty," she confessed quietly. She'd barely heard herself but grew paranoid. She couldn't risk John hearing her. He'd more than likely misinterpret what she was saying, just as she'd misunderstood her own feelings a few minutes ago.

John willingly gave Jackie so much, far more than she'd tried to force out of Steven. John didn't portion out his "I love you"s or cower from commitment. He spent money on her even though she had her own, he sang to her spontaneously—with a nice enough voice to pull it off—and admitting she was a beautiful had never been a struggle for him.

Yet every time Steven held Shade, Steven's eyes filled with a quality John didn't have: compassion. It lay at the bottom of Steven's heart like bedrock, a solid foundation. She'd once gambled on it to lead him to their future together. She'd made the right bet but folded before he'd shown his cards.

The game was different now, with a new player. He was full of easy affection but no tenderness. The cards seemed transparent, too. Nothing to guess, no mysteries to solve. But when Steven had squeezed her hand, he'd startled her with how a simple, quiet gesture could communicate so much.

Or, perhaps, nothing was in it. Maybe he'd just roused her own cicada-like self-doubt, but her uncertainty had a much faster life-cycle, rising from her subconscious every few weeks instead of every seventeen years.

"Thanks, cutie-pie," she said to Shade. She was feeling remarkably clear, and the morning brought more clarity. Her life was on the right trajectory. She merely had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, as if she were a robot programmed without emotion.

Jackie succeeded quite well at it, for a month.

Both of Steven's visits to Shade were uneventful, at least on the surface. He stayed over for an hour each time, the first with John present, the second without. Jackie and Steven took turns tossing Shade's foam balls. He fed Shade a few cat treats and cuddled him into a purring state of paradise.

During his second visit, Steven invited Jackie to pet Shade with him. Shade was sitting on top of John's huge, black sectional in the living room. She rubbed the fuzzy bridge of Shade's nose with her knuckle, but Steven's eyes lingered on her arm. A purple bruise had marred her creamy skin.

"What happened?" he said.

She groaned and shook her head at the memory. "This moronic segment on the showabout toys. I was interviewing Chuck Spry 'the Toy Guy'. One of his doohickeys, a spaceship that launched plastic missiles, misfired."

"Oh." Steven's shoulders slumped, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Glad it wasn't serious."

"Not serious? Steven, I have to wear arm makeup to cover up my deformity. Do you know how annoying that is? The concealer keeps getting on my clothes."

"'Deformity'?" He broke into laughter, loud enough to scare Shade off his perch on the sofa.

" _Shh,_ " Jackie pulled up his shirt collar and covered his still-laughing mouth with it. He reminded her of a little boy whenever he did that, and she looked elsewhere. The sight was too endearing, but Shade didn't seem to agree. He was staring at Steven from a safe distance away.

"Crap." Steven's laughter vanished. He crouched to the floor and extended his hand toward Shade. "Come 'ere, Cat," he said and made kissy noises.

Shade's tail straightened up—an indication of happiness—and he trotted to Steven's side. He rubbed his kittenish, pouchy cheeks against Steven's fingers.

Jackie was giggling, so much so that tears rimmed her eyes. "You—you're adorable when you call Shade to you. I should do a segment on 'Tough Men who Kissy Their Cats...'" She smacked her lips together repeatedly, copying what Steven had done. "Kissy, kissy..."

Steven shrugged and kept petting Shade. "He's freakin' cute. Blackmailing me won't work."

"I'd rather blackmail your dad. He has way more money."

"Jackie..." He didn't seem to know how to respond. He scowled for a second then sighed. The evolution of his reaction stopped there, and Jackie stiffened. The sigh would've become a chuckle when they were dating and then, finally, a hug. His arms would wrap around her back while his chin slid over her shoulder.

It was a closeness she instinctively expected, but the moment didn't register until after his visit was over. She hadn't been embraced for almost a week. John was away, overseeing a shoot in Las Vegas. _Wake Up, Chicago!'s_ first two hours were being broadcast from there. His absence must have mixed together with Steven's presence. She was missing her man, and she'd never been good at handling that.

 _Michael was gone?_ Just latch onto Steven. _Steven not available?_ Then how about Fez?

She'd hopped off the carousel of love years ago, and she had no interest in getting back on. But with her house empty again, uncertainty crawled from the depths of her mind, carrying with it that sense of incompleteness. John usually wasn't home when she felt like this. Her throat tightened, and her stomach hurt. She lay back on her bed, unable to do anything but stare at her ceiling. Tears spilled over the sides of her face, but she didn't know what was in them. No thoughts were attached.

This was her current state of being, lying down with thoughtless tears.

Without fail, though, Shade leapt onto the bed and settled onto her chest. His purr vibrated into her heart, and frightening words slipped out of her mouth: "I miss him, Shade. I miss him... I miss him!"

Her voice was unleashing feelings she'd had no awareness of until now. She should have meant John. She willed her brain to mean John, but her traitor mouth spoke another name. "Steven! I want Steven." She turned her face into her pillow, as if that would stifle the truth. "I miss him so damn much!"

Her words eroded into screaming sobs, and she sat up abruptly, causing Shade to jump away. She huddled over her bent legs, pressed her forehead into her knees. Memories were flooding her system—of Steven's touch, of his warmth and laugh. She'd never properly mourned him, and her body could no longer hold onto the grief.

Two hours passed before she was done. She _had_ to be done, but her revulsion whispered other truths. Grief wasn't her only affliction. A deep sense of yearning had infested her, something that could never be satisfied.

She refused to sit still anymore and paced through the house. It was almost as large as her childhood home—with too many unused bedrooms and an impersonal dining room. John's decorative taste was modern industrial, meaning a lot of metal. He'd allowed her to redecorate their private bathroom and add some details to their bedroom, but sometimes she felt like a visitor in her own home. And now her own body seemed foreign to her.

She made a stop in the living room. Its black sectional took up most of the space, and walking around it was a hassle. She scrambled over the back instead and fell onto the leather cushions. The act was something Steven would have done, something John would have admonished her for—an act of rebellion.

"Screw you, John," she said but didn't know why. He was so loving and supportive. He'd piloted her career to incredible heights, had no problem spoiling her with expensive, shiny things. Fifteen-year-old Jackie found fulfillment in him, but adult Jackie inexplicably wanted more.

John's sleek and cold metal telephone sat on the coffee table. Her fingers closed around the receiver. Steven lived fifteen minutes away. One call, and he'd come back over...

But not for her. Not to hold her in his arms or to brush tender fingers through her hair. He'd rush over for Shade.

Jackie raised her hand and struck herself across the face. Her cheek burned, but she did it twice more until she was thinking rationally. Grief did crazy things to people. Her own mother had started drinking because of it, had quit her career. Jackie couldn't abandon John the same way she'd been abandoned. He was her present and future, and Steven was nothing.

* * *

Two months later, Jackie received an incredible phone call. _Wake Up, Chicago!'s_ rival show _Illinois This Morning_ had made her an offer. The producers asked her to become a co-anchor for _ITM'_ s first two hours.

Their long-time anchor, the seventy-two-year-old Patty Sterling, was retiring. _Illinois This Morning_ always skewed toward an older audience, and its network wanted to modern things up. Jackie would make double her salary from _WUC_ and have the same creative input.

The answer "Yes!" clawed up her throat, but she swallowed it back down. Impulsive decisions usually didn't serve her well. Fortunately, the network gave her three weeks to decide.

" _ITM_ understands my situation," she said to John over dinner. She'd brought him to his favorite restaurant in Chicago, Chardonnay. The French cuisine and austere décor often made him receptive to hearing unpleasant news. She hoped it would do so tonight. _Wake Up, Chicago!_ had contracted her as an anchor for only a year. She was too new, and the network hadn't felt secure enough to commit for longer—despite John's enthusiasm about her. "They're more than willing to wait out my _WUC_ contract—"

"Jackie," John said, in a tone that meant, _I have a thousand ways to talk you out of this,_ but she wouldn't let him. Not yet.

"No, listen," she said. "My time on-air at _WUC_ is essentially a year-long audition to become more permanent; you know that. I have seven months left, but _ITM_ already believes I have what it takes—for their _first two hours,_ John. Those are the prime viewership hours. I'd be moving up based purely on my talent. This is my chance to prove to people in the industry—and myself—that I made it on my own merits."

John sighed, and he reached for her hand. Her lobster ravioli was going mostly untouched anyway, so she let his fingers wrap around hers. "Jackie," he said in the same tone as before, "you won't have me championing you over at _ITM._ There are people, suits, who had major doubts about you at our show. But I fought for you—every day, I fought until they listened. You'll be alone if you take that job."

"Yes, baby, I know. And I fought for myself, too. If I make this leap _,_ and I get the ratings you know I can get, I could have a long-term career at _ITM—_ like Patty Sterling. There's no guarantee _Wake Up, Chicago!_ will ever promote me to its first two hours."

" _Or,_ " he squeezed her hand, a little too tightly, "your youth could scare away _ITM's_ core audience. Their ratings'll tumble, and guess who'll get the axe? It's a gamble."

"So was moving to Chicago," she said. "I left _everything,_ but it turned out pretty great, don't you think?"

She flashed him her brightest smile, the one she used on promos for _Wake Up, Chicago!_ "The most dazzling smile on television," _TV Guide_ called it three months ago, but he didn't seem dazzled.

He withdrew his hand and resumed eating his prime rib. " _WUC_ won't take kindly to you jumping ship. You could lose everything. Are you willing to do that?"

" _WUC_ or you?"

"What?"

She hardened her gaze on him. " _WUC_ or _you_ won't 'take kindly' to me 'jumping ship'?"

" _WUC,_ " he said after a moment. "I'll miss working with you, but... you have to do what makes you happy. If that's going to _ITM,_ then so be it."

"Thank you." She leaned over the table, cupped his bearded face, and pecked his lips. "Really, thank you."

"You'll do great over there."

Those were John's last words on the subject, and the next week consisted of Jackie accepting the job at _Illinois This Morning_ and explaining the move to her boss at _Wake Up, Chicago!_ He wasn't thrilled, to say the least. Neither were the rest of the suits at the network, but they wouldn't cut her remaining months on the show. She made too-good ratings, and they had no issue capitalizing on that.

By Saturday, Jackie was feeling proud of herself, confident. Her choices were sound. Finally, she knew how to navigate the rough seas of life successfully. As a reward, she'd planned a "girl's day" at the beach with Brooke and other friends. Her supplies were all packed, and she'd put on a swimsuit beneath her clothes. All she had left to do was give John a parting kiss.

She strolled out of the bedroom, but a metallic crash quickened her pace. In the living room, John had the purple afghan in his hands. He whipped it at Shade's back, again and again, until Shade fled into the kitchen.

"John, no!" Jackie shouted, but too many feelings fought to escape her voice and eyes. She rushed to John's side and snatched the afghan from his hands. "You can't treat him like that!"

"I've had it, Jackie. I can't live like this anymore." He gestured toward the bureau, and she spotted the cause of his hostility. On the floor was his local Emmy, broken into pieces.

"I told you to put it in a safe place!" she said. "What did you expect?"

"It _was_ in a safe place. I moved it to the bureau for a minute. A _minute._ I wanted to rearrange the bookshelf, and the next thing I know, BOOM! The damn thing jumped onto bureau and knocked down my Emmy. I mean, look at it, Jackie." He grasped the back of his hair and shook his head repeatedly. "I'm finished, okay? I'm not going to come home every day, worrying about what else he's smashed up."

"He hasn't smashed up anything before this, and we'll... we'll start using spray bottles. But you can't _ever_ hit him—"

"I didn't hit him. I spooked him."

"You _hit_ him, John. I saw it. He's a cat. What're you gonna do if one of our children accidentally breaks something? Whip her, too?"

John's jaw clenched. His eyes widened, and he sucked in a noisy breath through his nose. "For God's sake, get it through your skull: Shade is _not_ a child."

"He's as vulnerable as one, as innocent as one."

"No, Jackie. Just... no." John marched over to his broken Emmy and put its pieces on the bureau. "For a smart woman, you can be—"

" _Beautiful,_ " she said. Because John had never insulted her before, and she couldn't let him start now.

"Yeah... and exasperating." He tried reassembling the Emmy, but the effort was useless. "Just give him back to your ex. He seems to like the thing."

"Would you stop calling him a 'thing'? Baby..." she eased her hand over his back and began to rub, "he helped me through some very rough times in my life. Why can't you—if not love him—care about him from that angle?"

"That's like asking me to care about a stuffed animal that poops in my house."

She groaned and left John to fuss over his award. Her main concern was Shade. She found him in one of the guest rooms, cowering under the bed.

"Kitty," she said softly and crouched by the bed frame, "I'm sorry. It's okay..." Shade eventually emerged at her coaxing. He butted his furry head against her chin. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'll keep you safe... even if means giving you back to Steven."

But as she stroked Shade's back, she knew giving him up would be her last resort. John would listen to reason after he calmed down. And he'd understand the consequences if he didn't behave.

Shade flopped onto his side on top of Jackie's foot. He began to purr, but the sound was slightly raspy. His breathing seemed a bit labored, too.

"Do you have a hairball?" she said. "That's a first."

He'd never thrown up, unlike her first cat who vomited hair balls like it was a hobby. Shade probably needed a little help, a kitty laxative. Did she have time to pick one up for him before she hit the beach? She looked at her watch just as the phone rang. Brooke had to be the one calling.

 _Damn._ Jackie should've been on the road ten minutes ago, but the ringing stopped. John must have picked up the phone. She waited, refusing to leave Shade. He deserved some comfort after being traumatized, just as he always comforted her. If Brooke wasthe one calling, John would let Jackie know.

A few minutes passed, and no John. "Great..." she said and reluctantly left Shade, who was still purring, a little raspy, on the floor. His front paws curled and straightened, as if he were kneading bread. She'd brought him to a much happier place, and she smiled in relief before sitting on the bed.

She intended to call Brooke, but John peeked his head into the guest room. "That was your friend," he said. "I told her you had to cancel your plans."

"What?" Jackie's first instinct was to kick him, but she'd outgrown that behavior. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Look, I'm sorry." He entered the room quietly and bent down by Shade. Shade jumped to all fours, but when John extended his hand, Shade rubbed his cheek against it. "I'm sorry," John said again, clearly speaking to the cat. "I was too rough. I won't repeat it."

"Cats go by actions, not words," she said. "So do I."

"I know." John remained on his knees. "Want to turn on the lights?"

"Why?"

"Please?"

"Fine." She turned on the lamp beside the bed, and he gestured for her to come closer. "What?"

He reached behind himself and produced a velvet ring box. "Babe..."

"Oh, my God." She covered her mouth. "Omigoff... omigoff," she said, muffled.

"Guess I've got to go to you." He shuffled on his knees to the bed. Then he opened the box, revealing a two-carat princess-cut diamond ring. It must have cost him at least fifteen-thousand dollars. "Jackie, our time together—dating and even before—has been my happiest. I love you... and I can't wait to have kids with you. Even if we have to keep the cat, it won't stop me from asking you this," he pulled her hand away from her mouth, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes!" she said without thinking.

He slid the ring onto her shaking finger before kissing her stunned lips. "Mrs. John Hill," he said and wrapped his arms around her waist. She embraced him in return, delighting in the moment. All she'd ever wanted was a family, and now she had one.


	9. Overbroke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

 

 

CHAPTER 9  
 **OVERBROKE**

The Monday following her engagement, Jackie floated in a joyous dream. Her co-anchors, Lenny and Tom, congratulated her on-air. Then John rushed onto the set and surprised her with two-dozen roses. Afterward, her happiness spilled into her creativity. She led the day's brainstorming session with Lenny, Tom, and various producers. They liked seven out of the ten ideas she proposed for future segments, and they lamented her eventual migration to _Illinois This Morning._

"Congratulations," one of the producers said to her privately. It was Stanley Koppel, the man who'd originally hired her two years ago. The meeting was over, and he walked her to her dressing room. "Johnny finally did it, huh?"

"Yeah." Jackie wiggled her ring finger at him. She loved how the diamond sparkled in the light, but something about Stan's question struck her wrong. "What do you mean by 'finally'? Was he planning to ask me for a while?"

"You could say that." Stan leaned against the doorway of her dressing room. A coffee was in his hand, and he sipped at it with an amused grin. "John was the one who originally saw your reel."

"From the public access show?"

"Uh-huh. He fell in love with you on the spot."

Jackie sat at her vanity. The surface was blanketed by promotional items, like makeup and shampoo from high-end companies. She opened a compact of foundation from the French brand _Nous Sommes_. The color was too light for her olive skin, but she applied it to her cheeks anyway. Her thoughts were going places she didn't want them to, and a distracted body often created a distracted mind.

"Told me to hire you," Stan continued. "Well, first he made me watch your reel and spat out words like 'beautiful,' 'charismatic,' 'hilarious,' and, 'has it all'. Then he said, 'Do whatever it takes to hire that girl.'"

Jackie's attention drifted from her own face to Stan's. The vanity's mirror was reflecting it at her. He was a handsome man in his own way. His green eyes were bright, and whoever styled his chestnut hair should've won an award. He could've easily been in front of the camera instead of behind it. He certainly enjoyed the sound of his own voice enough.

Then again, interviewers needed to know when to shut up, like Jackie was doing now. He'd tell her everything she was curious about, without her asking one single question.

"After you called me," he said, "I told John you accepted the job—and you know what he did?" He raised a finger, and, at first, she thought he was flipping her off. But it was his ring finger. "He went out and bought that ring."

"He what?" She turned from the vanity and stared at Stan directly.

He began to chuckle. "What can I say, Jacks? When John wants something, he wants it. I scoffed at him, but he wanted you, and he got you..." He chuckled some more. "The man should teach classes on creative visualization. It's amazing."

"Yes..." she said through gritted teeth, " _amazing._ " Then she stood up and swiped Stan's coffee from him.

"Hey!"

"What did I tell you about calling me 'Jacks'?"

He scratched his temple. "Uh..."

"Do I _look_ like a 'Jacks'?" she said.

"No."

"Do I look like someone who'd find being called 'Jacks' even the least bit endearing?"

"No."

"I wasn't raised in a trailer, and my parents aren't first cousins. My name is _Jackie,_ understand?"

"I do now," he said. "Can I have my coffee back?"

She shoved the paper cup back into his hand and charged out of her dressing room. Stan could be terribly dense, but her fury belonged elsewhere. The true culprit was on set, busy working with the lighting director for tomorrow's shoot.

"You manipulated me," she said behind John's head. Without missing a beat, he grasped her wrist and pulled her away from the set. "My career, John," she said as he led her backstage. "You masterminded every step so you could marry me?"

"No." He brought her to a dark, lonely corner of the studio. "When I love, I _love._ I wanted to give you everything _you_ wanted. If you fell in love with me in the process, that was a bonus."

She tapped the diamond of her ring. "Then why'd ya buy _this_ before we even met?"

"Know the philosophy of 'dress for your dream job'? Well, it's the same thing here. I bought a ring for my dream woman. I figured it couldn't hurt to be prepared."

"But how did you know it was me? Without even _knowing_ me?"

"I knew I wanted to get married. I was— _am—_ very much ready," he said. "I just hadn't found the right woman. On your reel, witnessing your sense of humor and confidence... your beauty," he stroked her cheek, and she didn't recoil, "I knew you were the right woman."

His touch, what it inspired, confused her. She desperately ached to be touched this way, so why did the contact foster more longing than it satisfied?

"Any woman could have fit that slot," she said but pressed her cheek into his palm. "I'm just a piece of modular furniture to you, like your ugly sectional. Yeah, I said it: your taste in furniture sucks!"

John didn't frown or withdraw his hand; he laughed. "So we'll go shopping together and redecorate. Unlike the couch, I'd take issue with exchanging you. You have to know that, Jackie."

He moved closer and eased her into his arms. Even with her three-inch heels, her head reached only his chest. The man was too tall for her, just like Michael had been.

"I'm a romantic, okay?" he said. "And so are you. You dreamed of perfect love, and we have it. Our kids'll probably think their daddy is an idealistic nut, but I want them to fight for what they want. Just like I fought—like I'm _fighting now—_ to have you."

"You don't have to fight anymore," she said quietly. "You have me."

She laid her head against him, and as he rubbed her back, that inexplicable disgust of hers returned.

* * *

Hyde entered Jackie's house for his bi-monthly visit to Shade, and several sights jarred him at once. First was the cast-and-sling combo over Jackie's left arm. She'd broken it—or someone had broken it for her. Second was diamond ring on her left ring finger. Looked like John Boy had proposed, and she'd accepted. Third was Shade. The cat didn't trot up to Hyde in the foyer. Shade remained in the living room instead, sitting atop the leather sectional sofa.

Hyde approached Shade slowly, but Shade seemed to recognize him. The cat stood and stretched his back. Then his tail straightened up, and he walked to Hyde on the sofa. Hyde petted his cream-colored fur, and a scratchy purr kicked up in Shade's throat.

"What's wrong with him?" Hyde said to Jackie. It was the first thing he'd said since arriving. His other two concerns were waiting in line.

"He has a hairball," she said. "I'm giving him stuff for it."

"Cat doesn't get those. You sure that's what it is?"

"He's been coughing, too, like he's trying to throw up. I don't think he knows how." She stroked Shade behind the ears. "But the raspiness sounds better than it did last weekend... Well, I _think_ it does. Anyway, if he's still coughing by next Tuesday, I'll bring him to the vet."

"If you don't, I will."

She glowered. "Of course I will. I won't let anything happen to him."

"Then why's he so cagey?"

"Maybe he's tired."

"Bull," Hyde said. "You and John been fighting around him? Shoutin'?"

"John doesn't shout." Jackie withdrew from sofa. She grasped her cast with her right hand, and her thumb rubbed the plaster. The behavior was a tell. Whenever her fingers moved obsessively over something—like a hangnail or peeling wallpaper—it meant she was hiding something.

"What happened, Jackie?"

"Okay, look..." she inhaled deeply, "he promised it would never happen again—"

" _What did he do?_ "

"Shade broke John's Emmy Award, and John hit Shade with the afghan over there." She jutted her chin at a blanket draped over the sofa. "He's learning how to be an animal person. It's just been a very slow process."

Hyde became very still, and his voice grew quiet, but inside him the earth was quaking. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"He break your arm, too?"

Jackie's mouth fell open, and she shook her head, as if she hadn't quite heard him. "Where the hell did you come up with that?" she said after a moment. "God, did you smoke a bowl before you came over here?"

"I never smoke when I—" He pinched the bridge of his nose; he had to stay focused, man. The tectonic plates of emotional control had ruptured, and the resulting energy was passing into his body. "Here's where I came up with it: the back-of- neck-squeezes, how he physically drags you around. I know the signs of suppressed rage, doll. I'm the same damn way—"

"No, you're not." She avoided his eyes and looked toward Shade. "You're nothing like that."

"Yeah, I am, only I'd get myself killed in a bar fight instead of taking it out on a chick. Your boyfriend—hell, I guess he's your _fiancé_ now—all he needs is one trigger to set him off." Hyde gestured to her cast. "Looks like it already happened."

Her gaze returned to him, as hard and impenetrable as the diamond of her ring. "John had nothing to do with that. I was learning how to swing on the 'flying trapeze' for a segment on the show, and I became the 'Incredible Crashing Jackie'. I slammed into the safety net and fractured my ulna."

"You got a tape of that?"

"Drive me to the studio, and you can see it for yourself."

He nodded. "Where're your keys?"

She laughed. "You're serious? My God... of course you are."

She walked past him, bumping his shoulder in the process. She was heading for the foyer, and he followed. Her jacket dangled from the coat rack. She dug her right hand into the pocket and plucked out her keys. He tried to grab them, but she whipped them away.

"No, Steven. You seeing the tape shouldn't be necessary. You should just trust that I'm telling you the truth... Oh, but trusting me has never been your strong suit, has it?"

"You don't get to play that card, man." He strode back to the living room, before she could entertain thoughts of kicking him out. Shade was where they left him on the sofa, and Hyde picked him up. "You okay, Cat?"

Shade's purr was still scratchy, and his breathing seemed forced. Hyde knew little about hairballs except for the little Jackie and Donna had told him over the years. The symptoms seemed spot-on, but Hyde had a bad feeling about it.

"What are you talking about?" Jackie said behind him. "I was nothing but trusting of you."

He let out a single laugh and sat on the hardwood floor with Shade in his lap. "You being here is real proof of that."

"Where? In this house? In the living room? You're making no sense."

 _In Illinois,_ he wanted to say. _In this life._ But he kept his eyes on Shade's pouchy, kittenish face and said, "You sure called me up right away after John Boy beat up our cat."

"He didn't beat him—"

"Jackie, you always freakin' told me to tell you if somethin' was wrong, if Shade had a busted claw or what his weight was after his exams. You waited a damn week to tell me about this." He pointed at Shade's stomach; it rose abruptly with the cat's breath and fell just as abruptly.

"It's just a hairball, Steven."

"How long you been engaged for?"

"Excuse me?"

He looked up at her but continued to pet Shade. "Woulda been nice to know before I walked in here that you were getting hitched. Didn't trust me with that either, huh?"

"You're being ridiculous!" She knelt down and rubbed one of Shade's front paws. "Why do you even care?"

"Stupid question. Got another?"

"John proposed last weekend, okay?"

"After his Shade-beating or before?"

Jackie's mouth clamped shut, and she frowned.

"Was it the first time?" he said, and her breath grew as labored as Shade's. "What else did the butthole do?"

"Don't call him that."

"What else did he do?"

"Nothing..." she said.

He didn't believe her, and he lowered his forehead over Shade's face. The cat seemed lethargic on top of everything else, but he stretched out a paw and batted Hyde's curls. Hyde had let his hair grow out again, the way he liked it. His shorter haircuts had been for Jackie.

"Remember what I told you about Edna?" he said. "How not getting hit by her was a special occasion? Patterns of behavior, man. Everyone's got 'em, including your fiancé.You don't wanna see it, that's your problem. But letting Shade get hurt 'cause you're bein' willingly blind— "

"I've had enough." She stood up, a little wobbly thanks to the cast on her arm. "Get out."

"Tell me where your cat carrier is, and I will."

"You're not taking Shade with you."

Hyde got to his feet with a purring Shade draped over his shoulder. "Like hell I'm not."

"I'll call the police."

"Call 'em." He opened the living room closet, a huge thing that took up a third of one wall. The carrier had to be somewhere among all the clothes, but as docile as Shade was, Hyde could probably bring him to the Camino without it.

He aimed to do just that. He left the closet and went with Shade to the front door. Jackie, though, rushed in front of them. "You'd go to jail for him?" she said.

"To keep him safe, yeah," he said, and his mind raced through his options. He'd have to abandon the Camino and rent a car under an assumed name, but giving Shade to anyone he and Jackie both knew wouldn't work. She'd figure it out, get him back, and let John have at him.

She reached toward Hyde now and grasped his hand. Her eyes had grown wet, but she wasn't crying. "I'll keep him safe, Steven. I promise."

"Don't care if he's with me," his squeezed her palm softly, "but he deserves better than this."

She laced her fingers between his, a surprising but not unwelcome gesture. Had she understood his true meaning? That he was referring not only to the cat but to herself?

"If—if John can't handle living with him," she said, "Shade's yours." She brought herself closer, and a duo of tears glided down her cheeks. "Please, don't take Shade from me. I need him..." she pressed her forehead into Hyde's arm, like she used to, "and I need you to trust me."

She could've been manipulating him. Their relationship had started off that way, with crocodile tears so he'd take her to his damn prom. But doubts of her sincerity evaporated when she unlocked one of her inner doors. She told him everything John had done to Shade—from ignoring his distress to tossing him off the couch. She was trusting Hyde with these things, taking a gamble that he'd react rationally.

He answered by transferring Shade from his shoulder to hers.

* * *

After Steven left, Jackie cuddled Shade to her chest. "He trusts me," she whispered into his fur. Steven had let her keep Shade, and she'd be worthy of that trust. If John hurt one more hair on Shade's body...

_"Don't care if he's with me, but he deserves better than this."_

She put Shade down on the floor, and he chased after a dust bunny in the foyer. She was glad to see him active. He'd been less playful lately, but maybe he was finally growing up.

" _Patterns of behavior, man. Everyone's got 'em, including your fiancé."_

John had never raised a hand to her. If he had, their relationship would've been long over. But when John came home that evening from a day of golf, she confronted him immediately: "Do you punish me through the cat?"

John's brow furrowed, and he didn't break his stride toward the kitchen. She followed him, and he took a can of Heineken from the fridge. "Come again?" he said, but only after his first swallow of beer.

"Steven moves to Glenview, and you're sweet about it to me—but Shade gets treated like dirt for the next few days. Then I tell you I'm considering a move to _Illinois This Morning._ You accept it—but out of nowhere, you decide to rearrange the bookshelf in the living room."

She inhaled a shaky breath; these were things she'd thought about but never dared say. She knew too well how false accusations decimated relationships. But her doubts had grown fat on what she'd witnessed, and their girth exceeded the confines of her mind and body.

"You put your Emmy Award on the bureau," she continued, "which you _know_ Shade jumps on, then turn your back on it." She grasped the kitchen counter for support. "You set him up, didn't you? You wanted him to break it."

"Why would I— _no._ " He slammed his Heineken down on the counter, and beer splashed onto her fingers. "Your ex plant this garbage in your head?"

"Patterns, John. You have a pattern of behavior." She dried her hand on a dishcloth. "Maybe you're not aware of what you're doing, but if I make you angry, just talk to me about it. Better for us to shout at each other for a few minutes than for you to—"

"You want me to shout, Jackie? I can shout. Your _ex_ isn't allowed in my damn house anymore! How's that?" He snatched his beer from the counter and marched from the kitchen.

She pursued him into the living room. " _Your_ house? This is my house, too. I _am_ your fiancée."

"You didn't pay for it."

"I'm paying for it now. That's my check covering half the mortgage each month."

He walked around the leather sectional, and she followed. He sat down with his beer, but she remained standing. "You've got patterns, too, you know," he said. "You're always questioning me after Hyde comes over."

"No, I don't."

"You do." His voice rose to a mocking pitch. "'Why do you hug me so tightly?' 'Why won't you shave your beard?' 'Can't you be more playful?' Jesus."

"I..." she sat down next to him, "I do that?"

"Yeah."

Her hand slid over his knee, but he didn't react except to sip at his beer. "I'm sorry," she said. "I had no idea... but I'm aware of it now, and I won't do it anymore, okay?"

John snaked his arm around her shoulders and carefully drew her into an embrace. He finally seemed heedful of her cast—after four days of reminding.

"I'm sorry, too," he said, "and maybe you're right. Maybe I've been passive-aggressive toward the cat. I'll do my best in the future to put my anger where it belongs."

"Fighting is better than imploding," she said and snuggled into his chest.

His apology and admission made her feel more secure, and they spent the next day at Marquette Park. They walked through the rose garden together and had a picnic by the lagoon. That evening, John cooked one of her favorite meals, chicken cutlets brasciole with lemon-pepper capellini. He was treating her like royalty, as he often did after they had a major disagreement. Another pattern of behavior.

Dinner led to a romantic movie on the sofa, which eventually led to the bedroom. Her blouse was unbuttoned, and John was dropping scratchy kisses onto her bare shoulder, but Shade's meows cut through the door. He sounded as if he were in pain or afraid.

"John, hold on—" She tapped John's back, but he took it as invitation to suck on her neck. "Stop—Shade... don't you hear him?"

"He's probably just hungry," he said into her lips, "or jealous that you're not spending time with him." He tried to push a kiss deep into her mouth, but she pulled away. "Come on, Jackie..."

She ignored him and ran out into the hall. Shade was sitting on the floor. His stomach contracted sharply then expanded, contracted then expanded, and his nose was purple.

"Oh, my God. He can't breathe..." She buttoned her blouse with frantic fingers. "John, get out here! Shade can't breathe!"

John's footsteps pounded behind her. "He's probably just trying to puke up a hairball."

"No, look at his nose. He's in trouble. Get the cat carrier. _Now._ ""You're making too big a deal of—"

"John, get the damn carrier!"

"Fine," he said. "Where is it?"

She told him, and he began a too-slow walk toward the stairs. "Hurry up!" she shouted. "Hurry!" But she didn't know if he had or not. Her full focus was on Shade. He meowed again, as if he were terrified; then his body collapsed onto her hand. "Shade?"

He'd lost consciousness. His eyes were closed, but they opened a few moments later, and hers filled with tears.

"What's happening to you?" she said and petted him. He began to purr—a very raspy purr. " _Shh..._ don't," but he kept on purring.

His affection toward her in this moment anguished her more than his collapse. How could he still be so loving when his life was in danger? When he was so afraid? She wanted to cry, to breakdown in a heap of sobbing. But Shade needed her to be clear-headed, so she controlled herself until John arrived with the carrier.

Shade was standing now, and his nose seemed less purple, but Jackie's panic was growing. Tears were pooling in her eyes, but she refused to cry. "John, get him inside—I can't. The cast..."

"I don't know how," John said.

"Just grab him—"

But action on their parts wasn't necessary. John had put the carrier on the floor by Shade. The gate was open, and Shade walked inside willingly. That worried Jackie even more.

She stood with the carrier in her right hand. "You have to drive me to the animal hospital."

John grimaced. "You give that cat more attention than me. Every little weird sound it makes, you fuss over. Can't it wait until morning?"

"I don't have time for this." She hurried toward one of the guest rooms.

"You said we should fight when I'm pissed. And I'm pissed now, so I'm fight—"

She made it to the guest room and kicked the door closed. She put Shade's carrier down then locked the door for safety. John banged on it, but she dashed to the phone and dialed Steven's number. The phone rang once... twice...

"'lo?"

Steven had picked up, and the sound of his voice brought forth her sobs. She could no longer hold them back. "Oh, God—" she managed to say. "Oh, God—"

"Jackie? What's goin' on?"

"It's Shade! He can't breathe. I don't know why. It's not hairballs, it's not hairballs! I have to get him to the animal hospital, and I can't drive because my arm is broken, and John's being an ass and won't drive me."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Jackie hung up the phone and wiped her eyes, and John entered the room. He must have gotten the key and unlocked the door.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, all right?" he said and picked up Shade's carrier. "Let's go to the animal hospital."

She left a grateful kiss on his lips, "I have to write a note!" and sped from the room.

"A what?"

"A note, a note!"

She raced to their bedroom and scribbled Steven a quick note. It said that John had agreed to drive and where the animal hospital was. She taped the note to the front door of the house. Steven's name was written in large, darkened letters on the paper. Then she joined John and Shade in John's car, a Chevy Camaro.

Shade's nose was purple again, and as John started up the engine, Jackie said, "Break the speed limit."


	10. Long Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER 10  
 **LONG ODDS**  


The animal hospital's Emergency and Traumatic Care department was located on the second floor, and Jackie was pacing. She'd ensconced herself in a quiet part of the waiting area. It was filled only by herself, abandoned newspapers, and a pair of vending machines. The rest of the waiting area was packed with talkative and worried pet owners, some with their dogs beside them on leashes.

Shade had been taken in by techs to be put on oxygen, to get an IV, to be sedated, and to be assessed. Jackie was holding herself together as best she could, but John's attitude didn't help. He'd tossed off a casual, "Shade'll be fine" before disappearing into the bathroom.

He'd been gone for several minutes already, and she stopped pacing. She didn't want to sit, but her legs were too shaky, so she leaned against a beam.. John should've been the one supporting her, though, instead of a tile-covered hunk of steel.

Her gaze remained on the nurse's desk. The emergency-care rooms were situated in hallways beyond it. Her heart fluttered each time a doctor emerged, but none of them approached her. She didn't know what to feel right now, trepidation or grief. The lack of information was worse than anything.

She inhaled a few steadying breaths, something Shade hadn't been able to do, and a hand cupped her shoulder. She turned toward it, "John, I don't—" but Steven was the one standing by her side.

Without thought, she crumbled into his embrace. He held her perfectly; his arms were cozy without being constricting, and his cheek slid against her temple. She could've stayed with him like that forever, shutting out the truth of what was happening, but his grip eventually loosened.

"How're you holdin' up?" he said.

"I'll be better once I know something. Shade's being assessed right now."

He nodded and offered his hand. She grasped it tightly, and they went to the back of the waiting area. They sat on the bench together, and he didn't let go of her hand. She was relieved. His physical presence kept her from panicking, and they began to swap Shade stories.

"He was freakin' tiny when I found him," Steven said. "Covered in dirt."

She laughed. "And looking just like you."

"So I keep hearing. He's got my balance, too."

"Yeah," she said. "He still doesn't understand he's gonna fall when he rolls off an edge. He flops off the cat tree, the chairs, the bed..."

"Doofus-cat," Steven said with an amused smile. "He shoulda picked up some grace from you."

"It was too late by the time I got to him. He patterned his behavior on you, Steven. That's why he's so sweet."

"Bull. That's all you, baby—"

"Hyde, you're here," John said. He'd finally surfaced from the bathroom. His focus was trained on Jackie and Steven's knot of fingers.

Her hand sprang open. "Of course he's here. Shade's his cat, too."

"Good. Then he can take care of it. Let's go."

She stared at him a moment. "Are you kidding me?"

"No." His six-foot-three height was casting a shadow over her, but he crouched down and clutched her knees. "Hyde," he said, "why don't you go to the nurses' desk and ask about Shade?"

"I'm goin' nowhere."

"Steven," Jackie said, "go... _please._ I want to know what's taking them so long."

Steven stood up and did as she asked. Her gaze lingered on his back, but a double-knee squeeze from John drew her attention.

"Look," John said, "I'm sick of this. You can't go away for a weekend with me because you won't leave that thing—won't leave _Shade._ "

"The pet-boarding place was being renovated that weekend," she said.

"Hyde could've watched him."

"Steven would have, but he was visiting family in Milwaukee."

John shut his eyes before speaking again. "It's time for you to choose, Jackie: me or Shade." He pressed his thumb and forefinger down on her engagement ring, which sent a shock of pain up her broken arm. "Come home with me. Let me make love to you. I'll make you forget that cat ever existed, all right?."

Jackie's right hand shot out and struck him across the face. "How dare you! You're a damn narcissist, you know that?"

"Is that what I am?" He got to his feet and tried to pull her with him. His fingers clamped around her cast, sending more pain mixed with panic through her body. But before he could do any serious damage, Steven grabbed his arm.

"Go home," Steven said. His voice was calm, but a hint of menace lay beneath it. John must have heard it because let her go. "Before you make a bet you can't win, man, go home."

"Yeah, screw you." John shook him off. "She's myfiancée,not yours, so butt out." He extended his hand toward Jackie "I love you, babe. Please, let's figure this out."

"I already have." She dropped her engagement ring into his waiting palm.

He stared at the ring. The injury she'd caused him was clear on his face, but he stalked off before it incited her to cry. She'd never wanted to hurt him, but he was wrong. For so many reasons—and about so much—he was wrong.

John went to the bank of elevators. An elevator dinged its arrival, and he disappeared into it.

"Did you get any information?" she said to Steven. His sunglasses were on. Even so, she recognized his sadness.

"Just that the doc will be out in a few minutes."

"Another ' few minutes'." She moved away from the bench and leaned against the beam again. Another few minutes to ponder her broken engagement. Another few minutes to think of all the horrible things her kitty was going through. And another few minutes for the horror of her choices to crawl through her veins like parasites.

"Jackie," Steven said. He was at her side again. Maybe he'd never left it.

"I don't know what to feel," she said. "Shouldn't I be crying? I don't know..."

"You don't gotta know, not right now." He gestured to himself, inviting her into his arms. She returned to his embrace silently, and his fingers brushed through her hair. "I don't know, either," he said.

"Shade was practically dying in my lap as John drove us here. He collapsed on me at the house, then again in the carrier."

Steven said nothing, only held her tighter in a way that she'd craved.

A little while later, a female doctor entered the waiting area. She was wearing a crisp white coat and had a clipboard. "Who's the owner of the cat who can't breathe?"

Jackie and Steven both waved the doctor over and said, "Us."

The doctor joined them by the beam, in their private enclave of the waiting area. "It's pleurisy," she said quietly. "We need to tap Shade's chest to remove fluid from his lungs. There are risks involved. He can bleed. He can—"

"Do what has to be done," Jackie said.

The doctor nodded and walked away, but Jackie's legs could no longer support her. She plunked down on the bench and finally began to cry.

Steven sat by her. He was silent, but she said, "If he's got be put down, then I'm doing it."

"He's only four."

She grasped his hand again. "I know."

"Quality over quantity, man... I get it."

He palmed her knee while they waited for the doctor to come back. Unlike when John had clutched her, Steven's touch was comforting; more importantly, it felt right.

They didn't talk about Shade during the wait. She leaned against Steven's shoulder, and he told her about the dirty hippie—about _Leo's_ latest visit to him. She even giggled a little as he described Leo's attempt to sell records at Grooves.

"He started offerin' customers money to take 'em," Steven said. " _My_ money. Took it straight outta the cash register."

Jackie sat up when the story was finished, and he swept his thumb over her chin, unsticking tear-glued hair from her skin. The gesture astounded her. She hated when her hair did that, and he'd remembered.

"Better?" he said.

She nodded, "Better," and laid her head on his shoulder again. She shut her eyes against the reality of their surroundings but knew now, without question, that Steven was her family.

The doctor eventually came back with her clipboard and a stethoscope around her neck. "We withdrew a lot of fluid from Shade's lungs," she said. "But when I listened to his heart afterword, I heard crackles. That's indicative of congestive heart failure."

"What's it mean in the long-term?" Steven said.

"Shade can survive a year after a first attack like this, but that's at the very most."

"How can we be sure it's congestive heart failure?" Jackie said.

"The other causes for pleurisy are even worse than heart failure..."

Jackie looked at Steven. "Then we have to put him down."

"How did he get this?" he said.

"It's genetic," the doctor said. "Not uncommon in younger cats."

Steven's fingers threaded between Jackie's. "So... what do we do?"

"He'd have to undergo regular lung-tapping, bi-weekly or weekly, depending on how fast the fluid builds back up. But we couldn't get it all, what's in there now."

"We have to put him down tonight," Jackie said. "I don't want him suffering anymore."

Steven nodded his agreement, and the doctor frowned sympathetically. "I'm so sorry," she said.

"I want to see him before you do it." Jackie pulled Steven's hand to her chest. "Will you say goodbye to him with me?"

He rubbed the back of his fingers over her heart. "Yeah."

* * *

Shade was brought into Room 1 on a thick towel. A young male tech placed him on a metal examination table and said, "He seems like such a sweet kitty. I'm really sorry."

"Thank you," Jackie said.

Shade was awake, but he didn't appear to register Jackie or Steven's presence. It had to be an effect of his sedation. His pupils were wide, and his breathing was still labored.

"Have you ever been present when a cat's been euthanized?" the doctor said.

Jackie shook her head. "Oh, no. I can't be there for that."

"I will," Steven said. His sunglasses were hooked on his shirt collar, and tears rimmed his eyes.

"All right." The doctor gave Jackie two pieces of paper and explained them. One was to give permission to euthanize. "The other asks if you'd like to donate Shade's body to the hospital, so student vets can learn."

"Yes," Jackie said, and the doctor continued.

"Would you be willing to donate the fluid from his lungs so we can research—"

"Yes." Jackie was crying again, but she managed to sign the papers.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said, just as sympathetically as before. Jackie was a stranger to her, but the doctor showed more compassion than John had.

"It's okay," Jackie said, blotting her eyes. Steven had passed her some tissues from the medical counter.

The doctor left them then, and Jackie and Steven petted Shade at the same time, as they'd always done since he'd come into their lives.

"I love you, Shade," she said and kissed his front paw.

"Hey, Cat," Steven said. He traced a fingertip over the stripes on Shade's head, over the orange rings that had given Shade his name.

Jackie, though, could no longer control herself. She wept openly and loudly while leaning over Shade's body. Then her voice grew to a whisper. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, Shade, for the time you gave us. I love you."

She straightened up and hugged Steven's waist with her right arm. He hugged her back without hesitation.

"Thank you for giving him to me, Steven," she said, and he kissed the top of her head.

"Do you need more time?" the doctor said. She'd returned without Jackie noticing.

"No," Jackie said

But Steven held up a finger. "Yeah, just one sec." Then he bent over Shade and kissed the top of his head, just as he'd done to Jackie. "Okay."

The doctor scooped Shade up, towel and all. Steven followed them out of the room, and Jackie made her way back to the waiting area. She stayed close to the nurse's desk, and when Steven eventually appeared, she ran up to him.

"Went peacefully," he said. "Fell asleep then... went." His sunglasses were still off, and his eyes were wet. "Want me to take you home?"

"I don't... I don't have one anymore."

"Yeah, you do." His palm slipped down her right wrist and eased over her hand. "Always will."

A small but deeply-felt smile rose on her lips, and she nodded. "Take me home."

* * *

A year later, on the anniversary of Shade's death, Hyde and Jackie were lying together on their bed. It was covered in a patchwork quilt from Mrs. Forman, something their two kittens loved. The cats were curled up on it now, a feisty but affectionate tortoiseshell named Zeppelin and a gray-and-white fluffball Jackie had named "Bee," in honor of the trait he shared with Shade: a constant buzzy purr.

Jackie sighed, and the sound made the kittens' ears twitch. It was late at night, time to sleep, but Hyde wouldn't turn off the lights until she gave him the okay. She couldn't seem to stop looking at a picture they had on the wall. In it, Shade was sprawled on his back and looking up at the camera. Hyde liked to call this Shade's "Watch me! I'm like Ma!" pose. But she always argued it was Shade's _Steven_ -pose because the orange rings around his eyes were so evident.

Hyde stroked Jackie's arm, and his touch seemed to draw out her thoughts. "I still miss him," she said.

"Yeah..." he kissed her temple softly, "me, too."

She finally pulled her gaze from Shade's picture and glanced at her engagement ring. He'd proposed to her six months ago, would've done it earlier, but she'd needed time. Moving into his house in Glenview had been easy for her. Finishing out her contract at _Wake Up, Chicago!_ had been rough. John Boy tried to sweet-talk his way back into her good graces, but she didn't take the bait. Seeing him at the studio from then on, dealing with her co-workers' whispers, used every bit of strength she had.

She'd call Hyde in the middle of the day for support, and he gladly gave it. Her courage impressed him and kindled his own bravery. He freely admitted his feelings without a run-around, confessed he'd moved to Illinois because he loved her—had never stopped. If John Boy hadn't been a dick, Hyde would've stayed put in Wisconsin and let her be.

"I'm so glad he was a dick," Jackie had said months ago, and Hyde laughed.

He wasn't laughing now, though. Jackie seemed close to tears, and he grabbed a few tissues from the nightstand for her.

"It comes in waves, y'know?" she said and scooted toward him. He moved his pillow so she could share it with him. "Most of the time, I'm okay, but sometimes his absence just hits me. I'll be on set at _ITM,_ and between commercial breaks, the memory of Shade will flash through my mind. I have to pinch my leg to keep from crying." She took his tissues but crushed them in her fist. "And sometimes I get really angry. He was so young, Steven. I wanted more time with him."

"Me, too," he said again. "There was nothing we could do, doll. No way to know he had a ticking time bomb in his chest until it was too damn late."

"I'll probably miss him for the rest of my life," she scooted even closer and snuggled into his chest, "but I'm so thankful I don't have to miss _you_ anymore."

"We played a few bad hands... but we won the game, man."

His arms closed around her, and the movement woke Zeppelin and Bee. They trotted up to Hyde and Jackie to see what the fuss was about. Then they pounced on each other and tumbled to the floor.

"Doofus-cats," Hyde and Jackie said together and burst into laughter. Their time with Shade had been cut painfully short, just as Hyde's time with Jackie once was. But Shade had bound them together, in ways Hyde still didn't completely understand.

A loud purr rose to the bed, prompting Hyde and Jackie to peek over the side. Zeppelin and Bee were a tangle of paws, and Zep was grooming Bee's face. Jackie reached down and petted them. Hyde did the same, and as his fingers crossed under hers, he sent silent gratitude to Shade...

_Thanks for the time you gave us, Cat._


End file.
